Having binged 1923, it’s hard not to imagine Clint Eastwood raising an eyebrow or maybe even walking out of the room altogether. The standoffs, the brooding cowboys… sure, it’s all there. But somewhere between all the shootouts and drama, Sheridan’s Yellowstone universe turned into something Eastwood might’ve side-eyed.

Eastwood’s legacy was built on lean storytelling and quiet strength. Sheridan’s got power struggles, family feuds, and enough monologues to fill a saloon. Respect to the empire he’s built, but if Eastwood’s no-nonsense Westerns were the blueprint, this franchise feels like the overly dramatic, big-budget remix.

Clint Eastwood’s legacy didn’t ride into Yellowstone; it got trampled by it

Clint Eastwood in a still from Unforgiven | Credits: Warner Bros.

After watching 1923, I had one thought stuck in my head: Unforgiven didn’t deserve this. That gritty, haunting masterpiece from Clint Eastwood inspired a Western empire, and I’m pretty sure if Eastwood saw what it’s become, he’d be slamming his hat on the ground.

Unforgiven was a quiet storm. An aging outlaw, drowning in regret. A sheriff who hid cowardice behind a badge. Every frame screamed consequences. Taylor Sheridan clearly admired it, even saying (via Atlantic), “let the sheriff be a bully and the hero be this drunken, vicious killer.” Respect. But somehow, along the way, Yellowstone took that depth and turned it into a flashy soap opera with a cowboy hat.

Yes, I know TS used Claudia’s Theme from Unforgiven in Yellowstone S1, and Eastwood approved it. But that 90-second homage feels like a high-five followed by a sucker punch. What Eastwood did with character depth and moral ambiguity, Sheridan often replaces with brute force and melodrama.

Taylor Sheridan in a still from Yellowstone | Credits: Paramount Network

And let’s talk morals. Unforgiven ends with Munny admitting, “We all got it comin’, kid.” A gut-punch line that strips justice bare. Yellowstone? It wants you to cheer for the Duttons while they bury secrets six feet deep and play mafia in Montana.

Even Sheridan admits he wanted “real consequences.” But by the time we hit 1923, it feels like the only consequence is running out of spinoffs.

Don’t get me wrong, Sheridan helped revive the Western. But Unforgiven gave us soul. Sheridan’s world’s more sizzle than scar. And somewhere, Clint Eastwood’s probably squinting into the distance… wondering what the hell happened.

How the Western genre rode off into the sunset

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton in a still from 1923 | Credits: Paramount Network

I never vibed with Westerns, and I think I know why. By the time I came of age, the genre had already bit the dust. These movies, once dripping with gunslinging swagger and moral codes, suddenly felt like dusty relics.

The cowboy used to be “the people,” the sheriff “the law,” and the non-prostitute woman — yes, very specific “the call of civilization.” It was America’s myth-making machine, pitching us a nation built on justice and grit. But post-WWII, that rose-colored dream started to crack.

The spaghetti Westerns — The Good, the Bad and the Ugly didn’t just darken the mood, it drowned it. Heroes were bastards, towns were trash, and faith in the genre? Gone.

By the time Unforgiven hit, it wasn’t about justice. It was mourning the ghost of it. The Western didn’t just die. It outlived its mythology.