In the television universe crafted by Taylor Sheridan, killings are frequent, and many characters have pulled the trigger. Yet, the first kill is never a simple act of violence. Watching the entire saga, from 1883 and 1923 to Yellowstone and the forthcoming Landman, one discovers a profound theme: through the first kill of different characters in different eras, Sheridan reveals the intergenerational transmission of a deep-seated trauma within the American psyche. From the prairies of 1883 Montana to the contemporary oil fields of Texas, four generations undergo their own era’s “bloody initiation” at the moment they pull the trigger—a moment that marks the shattering of innocence, the shouldering of responsibility, or a final, desperate act of rebellion.
Defiance in the Shadow of Death: Elsa’s Desperate Dignity
In 1883, eighteen-year-old Elsa Dutton lies on the soil of Montana, a Comanche warrior's poisoned arrow lodged in her body. She knows she is dying, the venom spreading through her veins, yet her hand clutches a rifle. Some might call this a survival instinct, but I believe Elsa knew survival was impossible. Her grip on the gun was a subconscious expression of something more primal: a final act of human dignity in the face of certain death.
The gunshot echoes across the Great Plains. This young woman, who once naively believed in eternal love, had already lost her cowboy love, Ennis, and her Comanche husband, Sam. Now, she is about to lose her own life. In this final moment, she chooses to fire. That shot is her declaration against the finality of death: I existed. I loved. I fought back.
The significance of this shot transcends personal tragedy. Elsa's first kill occurs when her own death is a foregone conclusion, and this fatalistic violence sets the tone for the entire Dutton family legacy: every act of violence is entwined with a certain despair, and every counterattack is preceded by gut-wrenching loss. The poisoned arrow that takes Elsa's life injects an almost genetic tragic consciousness into the family, a reminder that for generations to come, violence will always carry a price, and that price is often irreversible loss.
The Numbed Killing of War Trauma: Spencer's Lost Soul
Forty years later, Spencer Dutton stands on the African savanna, the blood of a lion spattered on his face. His eyes are hollow, his movements practiced; this is but one of countless kills. From the trenches of Europe to the hunting grounds of Africa, he uses killing to escape the trauma of killing—a classic modern paradox.
Spencer's first kill took place on a World War I battlefield. He was a young soldier then, filled with the ideal of serving his country. But the first lesson war taught him was that ideals are meaningless in the face of bullets; survival is the only morality. As he squeezed the trigger again and again, watching German soldiers fall, something deep inside him died: his compassion, and his ability to sense the limits of violence.
From then on, killing became a skill, a profession, a way to flee the past. In Africa, he hunts lions to survive, but also to find in their roars an echo of battlefield artillery, to relive the adrenaline of life and death in their bloody ferocity. This is a common symptom for sufferers of post-traumatic stress: numbing the trauma by repeating it.
Spencer's killing stands in stark contrast to his aunt Elsa's. If Elsa’s first kill was a declaration of dignity in desperation, Spencer's is a self-preservation mechanism born of trauma. He dances with death, attempting to control his inner fear by controlling death itself.
The Struggle Between Duty and Humanity: Kayce's Complexity
By the 21st century, the first kill faced by Kayce Dutton carries a more complex moral weight. As a Navy SEAL veteran, his kills on the battlefield were sanctioned by the state and held a clear moral justification. But when he returns to Montana and opens fire to protect his family's land, that justification becomes blurred.
Kayce's first "private" kill occurs during a conflict to defend the Yellowstone ranch. Unlike his great-aunt Elsa's desperate last stand or his great-uncle Spencer's traumatic repetition, Kayce's act is laden with a distinctly modern moral anxiety. He knows the law, understands the consequences, and comprehends the complexity of violence, yet he still chooses to fire.
The complexity of this choice lies here: Kayce is not killing for survival, nor is he driven by trauma. He kills despite knowing that other options exist, choosing the most ancient of solutions. This reflects a deep contradiction in modern America: on the surface, we have entered a civilized, lawful society, but when it comes to land, family, and fundamental interests, we often revert to the most primordial logic of violence.
Kayce's first kill is the most "modern" of the four generations because it is accompanied by the most reflection and the least impulse. But it is precisely this rationalized violence that demonstrates its persistent presence and the relativism of morality in contemporary society.
The Compromise of Commerce: Tommy's Contemporary Dilemma
In Landman, the violence faced by Tommy Norris is more insidious but no less lethal. In the Texas oil industry, a "first kill" might not involve pulling a trigger, but signing off on a safety protocol known to be inadequate, or ordering work to proceed on equipment known to be faulty.
Tommy's moral dilemma is a contemporary one: his "killing" is packaged in business decisions, cost-benefit analyses, and risk assessment reports. When he first makes a business decision that could lead to someone's death, he isn't facing an enemy's gun, a lion's claws, or an intruder's threat. He is facing numbers on a spreadsheet and pressure at a shareholder meeting.
The insidious nature of this killing makes it all the more terrifying. Tommy doesn't have to see the blood, hear the final groan, or bear the direct psychological impact. Death becomes a statistic, an abstraction, legalized. Yet, in essence, it is still killing—killing achieved through systematic neglect and calculated indifference.
Tommy's first "kill" might happen on a Tuesday morning in a climate-controlled conference room, accompanied by the aroma of coffee and the click of a PowerPoint slide. But its moral weight is no lighter than the shot Elsa fired on the prairie.
A Symphony in Four Movements: The Generational Evolution of Violence
Placing these four "first kills" side by side, we see the evolutionary trajectory of violence in America:
- From Despair to Numbness: Elsa's desperate defiance evolves into Spencer's numb repetition. Violence transforms from an exceptional state into a daily practice.
- From Direct to Indirect: Kayce's moral struggle develops into Tommy's systemic indifference. Violence shifts from a personal act to an institutional operation.
- From the Physical to the Abstract: From the cold stock of Elsa’s rifle to the glowing screen of Tommy’s computer, the execution of violence becomes increasingly abstract, though its consequences remain just as real.
- From Necessity to Choice: From Elsa's lack of options to Tommy's multiple choices, the moral responsibility for violence grows ever more complex.
These four "firsts" form a profound allegory of the American spirit. We believe we are progressing, becoming more civilized and distancing ourselves from brutality, but in reality, we are merely changing the form of violence, sophisticating its means, and rationalizing its logic.
From the plains of Montana to the oil fields of Texas, from the Indian Wars of the 19th century to the corporate wars of the 21st, violence has always been present, merely cloaked in the attire of its time. Through the "bloody initiation" of these four generations, Sheridan shows us that the foundations of America are built not only on freedom and democracy, but also on violence and trauma. Understanding this legacy of violence may be the key to understanding the spiritual predicament of contemporary America.
The venom from that arrow still courses through our veins; we have simply learned not to feel the pain.