A Streaming Juggernaut in Critical Freefall
On paper, the return of Taylor Sheridan’s Landman is a triumph of unrivaled proportions. Paramount+ announced that the Season 2 premiere drew a staggering 9.2 million viewers globally within its first 48 hours, shattering the platform’s previous records and marking a 262% increase over the series debut. By every commercial metric, the oil-patch drama is a monster hit, cementing Sheridan’s status as the most bankable creator on television.
But beneath the celebratory press releases lies a much darker narrative. While viewership has skyrocketed, audience sentiment has cratered. The show’s Rotten Tomatoes audience score, which sat at a respectable 68% for Season 1, has plummeted to a dismal 37% for Season 2.
This statistical chasm—between massive consumption and vocal rejection—is rarely seen in prestige television. The catalyst for this backlash isn't the complex geopolitics of oil or the gritty industrial accidents; it is a firestorm of controversy surrounding the show's portrayal of its female characters.
The "Doubling Down" Theory
Following the first season, critics and fans alike offered a common note of feedback: the writing for the female characters—specifically Tommy Norris’s ex-wife Angela (Ali Larter) and daughter Ainsley (Michelle Randolph)—felt dated, shrill, and reductive. Many expected Season 2 to course-correct, perhaps grounding these women with the same grit and complexity afforded to the male roughnecks.
Instead, Sheridan appears to have done the opposite.
Season 2 has not only retained the controversial characterizations but amplified them. The screen time for the Norris women has increased, and their storylines have leaned harder into the very tropes that drew ire in the first place. For many savvy viewers, this feels less like a writing oversight and more like a deliberate provocation—a narrative "doubling down" by a creator known for his defiance of critical norms. The result is a viewing experience that feels schizophrenic: a gripping corporate thriller interrupted by scenes that feel airlifted from a different, far less intelligent show.
The "Jerry Springer" Critique
The brunt of the online vitriol has been directed at the character of Angela Norris. While Ali Larter is a capable actress, the material she is given often devolves into what Reddit users and critics are calling "Jerry Springer-esque" melodrama.
The Season 2 premiere featured yet another dinner scene meltdown—a trope that became a staple of Season 1—where Angela’s behavior is portrayed as erratic and hysterical. Even more jarring for modern audiences is the script's reliance on "PMS jokes" and references to her menstrual cycle to explain her mood swings. In 2025, using biology as a punchline to dismiss a female character's emotions feels not just lazy, but aggressively regressive.
Social media discourse has been ruthless, with threads describing these domestic sequences as "unwatchable" and "utterly pointless." The criticism suggests that Angela exists solely to be a chaotic foil to Billy Bob Thornton’s stoic Tommy, stripping her of any agency or genuine human motivation.
The Ainsley Problem: "Male Fantasy" vs. Reality
If Angela’s writing is criticized for being annoying, the writing for Ainsley Norris is being criticized for being uncomfortable. Played by Michelle Randolph, Ainsley is canonically a 17-year-old high school student (and later college freshman), yet she is framed almost exclusively through a lens of hyper-sexualization.
The backlash focuses on two distinct issues. First, the visual language of the show frequently positions her as a "one-dimensional male fantasy," often scantily clad in scenes where it adds no narrative value. Second, and more damningly, is the dialogue. Scenes where Ainsley discusses her sex life with her father, Tommy, have been labeled by viewers as "cringe-worthy" and deeply unrealistic.
One viral Reddit comment summed up the frustration, describing the female characters as being written "dumber than bags of rocks." The consensus is that Ainsley represents a hollow caricature of Gen Z, written by an older generation that views young women as vapid, sex-obsessed objects rather than people.
The Cami Miller Exception
What makes the failure of the Norris women so baffling is that Landman simultaneously features one of the strongest female arcs on television right now: Demi Moore’s Cami Miller.
In Season 2, Cami has evolved from a grieving widow into a formidable power player. Her "Serengeti speech" in the premiere—where she commands a room of oil tycoons and asserts her dominance over her late husband’s empire—was a masterclass in writing and performance. Cami is competent, dangerous, and complex. She proves that Sheridan is capable of writing compelling women (a skill he demonstrated with Yellowstone’s Beth Dutton and 1883’s Elsa Dutton).
The existence of Cami Miller highlights the disparity. The show treats Cami with respect and awe, while it treats Angela and Ainsley with disdain and objectification. This inconsistency suggests that the issue isn't an inability to write women, but a specific choice to relegate the domestic female characters to the realm of caricature.
Sheridan's Blind Spot
Taylor Sheridan has built an empire on "Red State" prestige drama, often championing a brand of rugged individualism that resonates with millions. However, Landman Season 2 exposes a significant blind spot in his storytelling armor.
The show is currently suffering from a paradox of "Anti-feminist feminism"—it celebrates strong women who act like men (Cami, the lawyer Rebecca), while mocking or sexualizing women who occupy traditional domestic or younger roles.
While 9.2 million views prove that the audience is hungry for the world Sheridan has built, the 37% audience score is a warning siren. Viewers are becoming exhausted by the "offensive" and "unnecessary" subplots that drag down the main narrative. If Landman hopes to secure a legacy alongside Yellowstone, it may need to realize that alienating half its audience with outdated gender tropes is a drilling strategy that eventually runs dry.
