1923 review: Harrison Ford and Helen Mirren elevate the Yellowstone franchise

No stranger to iconic action heroes, Ford cuts a naturally imposing and threatening figure as a classic cowboy, although his character’s stiff expression seems to be stuck in a perpetual scowl except when he’s with his wife. By contrast, Cora feels more dynamic and emotionally accessible, with Mirren tapping into the matriarch’s quiet humanity and strength. Because of its leads, 1923 functions more interestingly as a family drama and will only benefit from a deeper exploration of Jacob and Cora’s shared history as partners. Together, Ford and Mirren’s witty repartee even helps to add a few moments of levity in an otherwise taut and tense hour that attempts to juggle two other storylines that don’t really feel connected to the ranch but are arguably more compelling than spats over land rights.

A world away, Spencer, Jacob and Cora’s war veteran nephew, has developed a reputation as a kind of marksman hunting dangerous big cats that are threatening the lives of villagers and travelers in Africa. Traumatized by his experiences in the battlefield, which were shown in a lengthy and graphic flashback that illustrates 1923’s innate cinematic quality, Spencer has decided against going home to Montana in favor of searching for the parts of himself that he lost in the Great War. Sklenar bears such an uncanny resemblance to Ford that, at first glance, one might think Sklenar was playing Jacob in a flashback. As a ruggedly handsome safari hunter, Sklenar commands the screen by playing one of the show’s most immediately compelling characters.

Sheridan has not shied away from the historical mistreatment of Indigenous peoples, but he’s taken that theme a step further in 1923 with the introduction of Teonna Rainwater (an excellent Aminah Nieves), a strong-willed young woman on the verge of reaching her break point who is forced to attend one of the horrific residential schools of that era. When she lashes out, Teonna faces the wrath of her sadistic nun teacher, Sister Mary (a terrifying Jennifer Ehle), and a slightly more compassionate but even more ruthless headmaster, Father Renaud (a menacing Sebastian Roché), who has his own perverse way of asserting his power over both women.

Sheridan continues to walk an ever-so-fine line between exposing the murder and mistreatment of Indigenous peoples in history and falling into sensationalist exploitation. While it remains imperative to depict these difficult parts of American history, these scenes in the school are deeply unsettling and uncomfortable to watch—so much so that they feel like a different show altogether—and these unflinching depictions of violence can run the risk of being gratuitous. It’s still unclear from the first episode alone how all of the storylines will inevitably converge, or if all of the storylines even work to begin with, but if executed correctly, Sheridan’s prequel can be a worthy star vehicle for its sprawling ensemble.