'Tulsa King' Recap, Season 2, Ep. 1: 'Back in the Saddle'

It feels weird to say Sylvester Stallone was miscast in Tulsa King, a show that exists for the sole reason that Sylvester Stallone is in it. It’s like saying Godzilla was miscast in Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. In both cases, these properties are delivery mechanisms for giving people the behemoths they know and love. I’m going to complain that the Stallone-o-tron churned out some Stallone for me to watch? I don’t go to Dunkin’ and complain about how there are too many donuts.

And yet. Despite its usually light tone, Tulsa King is, after all, the story of a mafia captain taking over a city through extortion and violence. Violence is something we know Stallone can do, as well as anyone who has ever done it, historically speaking. But it’s the mafia-captain thing that doesn’t quite work. Stallone has played killers before, to understate the case considerably, but once stardom found him, he never played a notable heel again. The closest any of his star turns have come to villainy are the first and fourth Rambo films, but Rambo is Frankenstein’s monster, not Dracula. (In this metaphor, Dr. Frankenstein is Uncle Sam.)

Through no fault of his own, Stallone is a born babyface. He simply doesn’t seem mean enough to be a gangster. That was the premise of Rocky, remember? He was a low-level legbreaker whose heart wasn’t in it! Tulsa King bends over backward to show that Stallone’s character is a kinder, gentler made guy — his murders include one mercy killing, a bunch of self-defense against worse criminals, and the execution of the guy who sexually abused his daughter, so you don’t have to have complicated feelings about him committing them — but there’s still a disconnect between the actor and the role that makes the whole thing feel artificial. It’s like you’re watching Sylvester Stallone pretend to be a mob boss, and a bunch of talented actors pretend he’s not Sylvester Stallone pretending to be a mob boss.

Which makes the behind-the-scenes reshuffling that went on prior to this season interesting. Showrunner Terence Winter stepped down from the position, allegedly over creative differences with series creator (and Yellowstone impresario) Taylor Sheridan. Winter now serves as head writer, with Craig Zisk directing and executive producing the season in lieu of an official showrunner. And a notable name has joined the writing staff: Sylvester Stallone, who co-wrote the season-two premiere (and finale) with Winter.

In theory, the result could be quite something. Winter, one of the best writers on The Sopranos (“Pine Barrens”! “Long Term Parking”!), also created Boardwalk Empire, the most underrated and morally unflinching drama of the New Golden Age’s second wave. (Five tight seasons, it’s on Max right now, featuring every good character actor on Earth, what are you waiting for?)

Stallone, meanwhile, is a fascinating filmmaker, honest to god. Remember that the man didn’t just star in Rocky and First Blood, both of which are plain old Great Films — he wrote them. If it weren’t for the bombastic and multitudinous sequels, people would remember those movies as elegiac late echoes of the New Hollywood style. (Admittedly, Stallone wrote and directed most of those sequels, so the tarnished legacy of the originals is largely on him.)

Unfortunately, none of the virtues of either man’s best work are in evidence in this season-two premiere. Winter isn’t plumbing the moral abyss at the heart of violent men. Stallone isn’t exploring the cinematic spectacle of his own suffering. It’s really as simple as a one-sentence synopsis: Stallone plays a mob capo who moves to Tulsa, where hijinks ensue.

Stallone’s character, Dwight “The General” Manfredi, ended the show’s first season by declaring independence from his nominal boss, Chickie Invernizzi (Domenick Lombardozzi, a.k.a. Herc from The Wire). Chickie’s eponymous crime family back home in New York, which he inherited by secretly drowning his old man in the bathtub, includes Dwight’s chief rival, underboss Vince Antonacci (Vincent Piazza, a.k.a. Lucky Luciano from Boardwalk Empire). The two men have had just about enough of the independent-minded Dwight, who received Tulsa as a fiefdom because the younger generation had no place for him in New York when he got out of prison after 25 years of keeping shtum. Some reward!

Dwight’s unorthodox crew probably has something to do with it. It includes two defectors from the Invernizzi family: Armand Truisi (Max Casella, a.k.a. Benny from The Sopranos), who went AWOL from the mafia years ago and relocated to Tulsa because he was sick of the murderous bullshit, and Goodie Carangi (Chris Caldovino, a.k.a. Tonino from Boardwalk Empire — seeing a pattern with the casting here?), Chickie’s former consigliere switches sides when the beef between the two would-be bosses becomes a line in the sand. (Sorry for the mixed metaphor: Dwight, who spent all his time in the can reading and quotes Oscar Wilde from memory, would not approve.)

But Dwight’s operation is a motley crew more than a mafia crew: There are only three Italians and two made guys to speak of. Tyson (Jay Will) is Dwight’s ambitious and extroverted Black driver and go-to guy; Mitch (Garrett Hedlund, who’s like a young Sam Elliott) is a soft-spoken ex-rodeo guy and an ex-con who runs a bar Dwight has turned into a casino. Bodhi (Martin Starr) is the deadpan owner of the weed store Dwight muscled in on first thing upon arriving in town, making his employees — heavily tatted Grace (McKenna Quigley Harrington), burly security guard Fred (Justin Garcia-Pruneda), and formerly dreadlocked white guy Clint (Dashiell Connery) — part of the gang too. Indigenous weed farm owner Jimmy (Glen Gould) and mountainous newcomer Bigfoot (pro wrestler Mike “Cash Flo” Warden) round out the cast.

Because the Tulsa King is also a rizz king, we must mention the two gorgeous middle-aged women vying with whom he is romantically linked. The first is ATF agent Stacy Beale (Andrea Savage), who protected Dwight due to their ongoing sexual relationship (she initially clocked him at being 20 years younger than he is, which is very flattering to Sly) before ratting him out to save her career. The other ranch owner Margaret Devereaux (Dana Delany), a woman Dwight describes with characteristic verbal dexterity (!) as having “the kind of hair the poets write about.”

In this episode, Margaret invites Dwight to a swanky party, where she introduces him to an arrogant weed baron named Cal Thresher (Neal McDonough). It’s a lot of fun to see the whole gang wearing their individual versions of their Sunday best while trying to impress high society. But Dwight and Thresher don’t wind up seeing eye to eye. I think we’ve got our antagonist for the season, folks.

But the most important woman in his life is his daughter, Tina (Tatiana Zappardino). When she let slip last season that one of Dwight’s mafia buddies sexually abused her while he was in prison, he brutally beat the man to death in Chickie’s dad’s club, helping to precipitate the split with New York. She has since relocated to Tulsa after her husband was beaten in retaliation and put up the money Dwight needs to get out on bail after Stacey facilitated his arrest in the season-one finale.

You know what they say about mafiosi, though: You always wind up either dead or in jail. With option B temporarily off the table, it seems like Chickie is looking at option A. He kills a Dwight sympathizer to make a point, then contacts the mob’s man in Kansas City, Bill Bevilacqua (the perpetually delightful Frank Grillo). Is he just gonna sit there and take it while another mobster tries to carve out a whole city from his territory? I think we have antagonist number two.

The Tulsa King formula is a simple one. Stallone swaggers around, knocking out men decades his junior with one punch, wooing beautiful women, and building the confidence of his ragtag bunch in between drafting them to participate in gun battles with biker gangs and whatnot. “Benevolent mafia boss” is right up there with “cop who cares a lot and works hard” in terms of television fiction that whitewash lousy institutions. Still, I don’t think anyone’s in danger of believing this is how the mob actually works. The question is simply how much you enjoy watching Sylvester Stallone doing Goodfellas cosplay. If you want Stallone in a serious role in a serious story about crime, corruption, and redemption, Cop Land is streaming elsewhere on Paramount+ as we speak. Tulsa King is here for a good time, whether you’re having one watching it or not.