I SAW TULSA KING: SEASON 3 (CONCLUDING COMMENTS)

Taylor Sheridan/Paramount+'s Tulsa King: Season 3 didn't let me down. In fact, once it got rolling (and yes, it did take a couple episodes to do so), it exceeded my expectations, thanks to its colliding engagements. 

Among James Russo's sanctioning Quiet Ray and Robert Patrick's wine-wrangling Jeremiah Dunmire and his beleaguered son, Beau Knapp's Cole, not to mention Kevin Pollak's nudging FBI Agent Musso, I had no idea how Sly Stallone's Captain Dwight Manfredi would survive the onslaught, but survive he did (not that I had any doubt he would, mind you). 

In the series (no matter the season), one gets a good sense of who will rise and fall (this isn't The Walking Dead, after all), but it's the way it's constructed that gives it girth. Tulsa King, perhaps more than any current series, does a supreme job weaving pulpy toughness, Faustian pacts and down-to-earth amusement into one big ball of wax. (It's a swell throwback to the good ol' Sopranos days.)

On the other hand, I'd have liked more of Frank Grillo's Bill Bevilaqua this season, but he sure did shine while he was out in the open (before, that is, Agent Musso, pulled him from the fray). In the same vein, I'd have liked more of Neal McDonough's Cal Thresher, with further insight into how Dana Delany's Margaret Devereaux was streamlining his gubernatorial campaign. More on Anna Sciorra's Joanne Manfredi would have been nice, too, with broadened visits into her entrepreneurial process. Then again, I suppose there was enough of these components installed throughout the ten episodes, but they were just so interesting, I wanted more. 

The best marginal elements dealt with Jay Will's Tyson, Matthew Starr's Bodhi and McKenna Quigley Harrington's Grace, especially when it came to their electric cars. (What a hoot!) Chris Caldovino's Goodie and Scarlet Rose Stallone's Spencer (whoa! what a beauty) did a terrific job buffering the trio whenever they could. The results added the right amount of levity, while never going overboard. 

The one part I thought might not work, since it seemed geared from left field, was Samuel L. Jackson's late-in-the-game Russell Lee Washington Jr., but by golly, he blended well. I mean, I thought he would be a standard, cameoing assassin, but there was much more at play due to his long-term relationship with Manfredi: a splendid touch, and reputedly, there's a Washington spinoff in the works. Hmmm...

Anyhow, I could go on and on here, breaking down this and that, but I think one gets the gist. I like Tulsa King. I like this third season. I'm glad there's a fourth coming. We need more shows like this: those that aren't afraid to push the envelope but still distinguish good from bad. In Tulsa King's case, regardless of its criminal twists, one knows who to root for, and on that basis, the makers of The Boys and Gen V would be wise to take note. Even if the show's variables are ambivalent on occasion, one can still denote who's the hero and who's the villain. That goes a long way. 

TULSA KING #3: FURTHER, FAUSTIAN PULP

From what I can discern, Tulsa King: Season 3 will depict executive producer Sylvester Stallone's one-time, fish-out-of-water general, Dwight Manfredi, in FBI custody and sometime thereafter combatting resentful crime clans, as a seasoned, NY assassin stirs the contentious pot. (Frank Grillo, now soaring high on Peacemaker, Robert Patrick, also soaring high on Peacemaker, along with Samuel Jackson and Beau Knapp, comprise Manfredi's circling competition.) These details are appreciated, but just knowing there's a new season (no matter the plot) has been reward enough.  

For me, the anticipation comes down to a type of preordained timing. In recent years, I've grown fond of Mafia and gangland fables, thanks to their pulpy, Faustian undercurrents: something I became most aware of when viewing The Many Saints of Newark.  

This Faustian angle thrives in The Godfather saga (and is alluded to in its making-of, The Offer), but let's not forget Scarface 1983, Goodfellas, Casino and (per its intricate entirety) The Sopranos. In addition, this forbidding, committal denominator permeates earlier, cinematic, gangster examples, like The Public Enemy, White Heat, Little Caesar, Dead End and Scarface 1932, where the pursuit of something sweet dangles from something wrong. One bite can ruin a life or for that matter, end it.  

Stallone does a great job exemplifying the concept. I rank his Manfredi right up there with Rocky Balboa, John Rambo and Barney Ross. Manfredi has admirable bite, even though it's filtered through a subdued facade, but through that cool, the other characters, whether protagonists or antagonists, are defined by Manfredi's leadership prods within a modern, western context.

Now, there are those who'll scoff at my Tulsa King interest. These are the let's-tap-our-softie-side ideologues who wouldn't give any Faustian, balls-attached adage the time of day. It's just the way these characters are made, always demeaning what they'd like to be, since they're too craven (or lazy) to become it. 

I really don't get it. You see, to me, sitting through something like, oh let's say, Yentl is nothing short of Chinese water torture. Big Fish (despite its deft cast) gets me hot under the collar for all of its romanticized lies; Too Wong Foo ... is so gaudy as to be dry; and even though it may be classic Disney, Fantasia ain't nothin' but one big-ass bore (and that's even taking into account its Lugosi tribute). Yeah, my detractors may say that Tulsa King is pedestrian, juvenile and outdated in its sensibilities, but I got more than enough critiques to hurl at them, and I guess for the sake of this post, I already have. 

Be that as it may, Tulsa King: Season 3 begins September 21 on Paramount+ and will last ten episodes. When the run is done, I'll return with my assessment, which my virile inclination tells me, will be favorable.  

I saw Tulsa King #2 (Season Concludes)

It seems like only yesterday that Paramount+'s Tulsa King: Season 2 began, and here we are, in the aftermath of its bold conclusion. The perceived rapidity of the season was due, in no small part, to its engrossing plot and interesting characters, identifiable for their devotion to a cause, but also their flaws. And to distinguish Season 2 from 1, it wasn't so much a fish-out-of-water fable this time, as it was the story of a man who's shed his outsider relegation to become in every way the insider.

As with the prior season, Season 2 was sometimes Faustian and in most other ways, pulp-ish in the best hard-boiled manner. Its Godfather/Sopranos/Boardwalk Empire flair makes for good melodrama, but man, is Sylvester Stallone ever exceptional as Dwight Manfredi. Here's a guy who's tough and stoic when facing his foes, but bright and erudite (self taught in prison, serving time for a crime he didn't commit). He's also a family man, principled and protective, and what's wrong with that? (That's right, I'm directing that to all you bums who claim that such is something ho-hum and would be dismissible in today's pushy, cold-hearted factions.)

The guest-star standout for Season 2 was Neal McDonough's slick "businessman," Cal Thresher. Gosh, I thought McDonough was menacing as CW/DC's steely-eyed Damien Darhk, but Thresher was nuanced to the chilling max and an ideal, interceding adversary for Manfredi, creating a kind of elitist-vs-regular-Joe undercurrent, which only helped to make the storyline more credible. (I must also add that I'm glad Stallone and producers recruited McDonough, since he's a diverse and outstanding actor, who's taken some flack, as I understand it, for his moral views. He's my kind of guy no matter what, and Thresher is my kind of villain.)

I was surprised, though, that Andrea Savage's Stacy Beale was only in a small portion of Season 2. (Maybe she'll weave back in for the third.) All the same, Dana Delany's Margaret Deveraux did a swell job becoming Manfredi's main squeeze. 

I want more of Tulsa King, and though I'm confident Season 3 will surface, I'm also hoping that it'll contain more episodes than the previous runs. Sometimes shows can be padded to a fault, but Tulsa King's rough grace presents a foundation that propounds a virile expansion. 

I saw Tulsa King...

As many Bizarrechats readers know, I despise that which drives home a tap-your-feminine side adage and not because I'm closed minded. I mean, live and let live, and I'll say that until the cows come home. I just object to those dictatorial know-it-alls who decree the feminine drop the only sensible path to take, and if one should object, then one is bigoted, shallow, old fashioned, et al. Talk about the multifacets of reverse discrimination, eh?

So, why am I rehashing my view? It's because there are too many products now in circulation promoting the aforementioned angle, but Paramount+'s brassy Tulsa King acts as an inadvertent weapon against such sappy advocation. As such, I feel compelled to spotlight it. Tulsa King is two-fisted, unapologetic, amusing, pulp-ish, cowboy-ish, Godfather-ish and because of all of the above, an oasis of testosterone mythology. 

Tulsa King stars Sylvester Stallone as Dwight Manfredi, aka The General, who after spending twenty-five years in the clink for a murder he didn't commit (but took it on the noble chin for the "family") is dispatched to Tulsa, Oklahoma after release. The ungrateful mobsters would like him to perish out there, but old man Manfredi is too resourceful, too proud, to stay idle. Little by little, he begins to reap the monetary rewards of his new terrain, thanks to his superior brawn and brains. 

The saga is a matter of Manfredi moving from one dangerous family to form another, as he nurtures his bloodline clan and fights a motorcycle gang that's a family in its own to-a-fault way. With family values at the series' hub, Tulsa King makes utmost use of loyalty, purpose, identity, comeuppance and might-makes-right on an epic scale, demonstrating the necessity of squashing any wrong aimed against "kin". 

The cast is perfect for establishing the conceptualization. In addition to the sensational Stallone, who conveys a rugged sophistication akin to Burt Lancaster's Prince Don Fabrizio Salina of Luchino Visconti's The Leopard, we're introduced to Andrea Savage as attractive ATF agent, Stacy Beale (Manfredi's occasional lady friend); Dana Delany as equally attractive rancher, Margaret Deveraux (Beale's indirect competition); Scarlet Rose Stallone as Spencer, a by-chance "horse whisperer"; Titiana Lia Zappardino as Manfredi's estranged but forgiving daughter, Tina; Jay Will as the appreciative and ambitious valet, Tyson Mitchell; Michael Beach as Mark Mitchell, Tyson's conscientious father; Martin Starr as meek but advantageous, pot peddler, Bodhi Geigerman; McKenna Quigley Harrington as jittery and punkish but later steely and strong, Grace; Garrett Hedland as friendly bartender/ex-con/rodeo star Mitch Keller; Max Cella as the anguished but redemption-seeking Manny Truisi; Alan C. Peterson as seasoned, mob kingpin, Pete Invernizzi; Domenick Lombardozzi as Invernizzi's dangerous, ready-to-reign son, Chickie; Vince Piazza as Chickie's top gun, Vince Antonacci; and Richie Coster as the ruthless, motorcycle-gang/money-grubbing captain, Coalan Waltrip. (These principals intermingle even when they don't intermingle, with one bold character, one bold action, impacting the other to forge interlocking events that bang with slow-burn excellence.) 

As should (perhaps) come as no surprise, the series is helmed by Terence Winter, executive producer of The Sopranos and Boardwalk Empire. Tulsa King captures their irreverent, semi-sardonic flavor, with the proceedings often turning Shakespearean in their emotional and vengeful scopes. 

In case I haven't made myself clear, this nine-episode extravaganza fires with true grit, but if one's spineless and weak (part of the mainstream's nauseating need to shrug and retreat), then re-watch The Little Mermaid and call it a ball-less day. But for those who dangle a weighty pair, this one's gonna please, and the door is wide open for a second season (reputedly green lit). I sure as hell hope it happens. Manfredi's refreshing story is one that guys like me (and believe me, we're legion) damn well deserve.