West Texas has always been a land of rough hands, dry winds, and deeper secrets buried beneath the dirt — but in Landman Season 2, it’s about to become the deadliest place on television. The dust has barely settled from Monty’s shocking death when the screen fades to black and reopens on a funeral unlike any you’ve seen. Black Stetsons. Tear-streaked faces. A preacher’s voice trembling over the sound of oil rigs grinding in the distance. And in the center, a man who’s traded his worn denim for a tailored suit — Tommy Norris, played with simmering intensity by Billy Bob Thornton.
Tommy was always a survivor, a man who knew every back road and handshake deal in the oil fields. But now, after Monty’s demise, he’s the head of M-TEX Oil — and the target on his back is larger than the Texas sky. Season 2 wastes no time reminding us that in Sheridan’s world, power isn’t inherited — it’s stolen, fought for, and paid in blood.
The funeral scene sets the tone. It isn’t just grief that fills the air — it’s suspicion. Who really killed Monty? Was it a rival oil baron? A cartel hit disguised as an accident? Or someone closer, a betrayal from inside the M-TEX boardroom? Tommy’s eyes scan the crowd like a man who knows every nod, every whispered word, could be the first spark in a war he can’t afford to lose.
Enter Demi Moore, stepping into the series as Cassandra Vale — a former energy lobbyist with diamond-sharp instincts and a past she’s not ready to confess. Cassandra arrives in West Texas not to mourn, but to claim. Her scenes with Thornton crackle with unspoken history; every exchange feels like a poker game where both players are betting more than money. “This land eats the weak,” she warns him in the first episode. Tommy only smirks — but the glint in his eyes says he’s listening.
Meanwhile, Andy Garcia makes his entrance as Miguel Ortega, a cartel fixer with a clean suit, a gold watch, and hands that have done very dirty work. He’s not here for oil; he’s here for control of the pipelines, the lifelines that feed both industry and organized crime. Ortega isn’t a man who threatens — he promises, and then delivers. His quiet menace adds a new dimension to Landman, one that pushes Tommy into dangerous alliances and even more dangerous compromises.
And then there’s Sam Elliott, the living embodiment of cowboy steel. Returning as Sheriff Clay Burton, Elliott brings that weathered gravitas only he can deliver. Burton has been in West Texas long enough to know that the law is a line in the sand — and sometimes you have to step over it to keep the peace. But as the season begins, even he’s rattled by what’s coming. “This ain’t oil anymore, Tommy,” Burton tells him, voice low. “This is war disguised as business.”
Taylor Sheridan’s camera loves the contradictions of this land — the endless sunsets over fields pockmarked with drills, the quiet beauty of a windmill spinning against the distant thunder of machinery, the intimacy of family dinners overshadowed by corporate espionage. In Season 2, the stakes are as personal as they are political. Every character is a collision of ambition and loyalty, every choice a trade-off between survival and self-respect.
From the first episode, we’re thrown into a maze of double-crosses: a sabotaged rig explodes just hours after Tommy refuses a deal; Cassandra is spotted in the company of Ortega’s men; and Burton finds himself holding evidence that could topple M-TEX entirely — if he lives long enough to use it. Sheridan doesn’t just hint at violence; he lets it simmer, lets you feel it coming like a West Texas storm, until it finally breaks in a scene so sudden you’ll forget to breathe.
And that funeral? It’s not just a goodbye — it’s the opening move. The final minutes of the premiere reveal that Monty’s death was no accident, and the people responsible are sitting much closer to Tommy than anyone expected. As Elliott’s sheriff locks eyes with him across the graveyard, we know this season won’t be about who can win, but who can survive with their soul — or what’s left of it — intact.
In Landman Season 2, oil is just the currency. The real commodity is trust, and in West Texas, that’s worth killing for. Sheridan isn’t holding back, and neither are his characters. Strap in — the rigs aren’t the only things ready to blow.
