Ransom Canyon ☆☆☆

Starring: Minka Kelly, Eoin Macken, James Brolin, Marianly Tejada, and Josh Duhamel

Created by: April Blair

oth of Ransom Canyon’s leads have likened it to some confection or other: In Josh Duhamel’s words, it’s “comfort food”; in Minka Kelly’s, it’s “gooey chocolate cake.” Descriptions like these denote something unserious, nothing intended to make an audience feel too deeply or confront their values systems all that much. And yes, the show’s ten episodes are engineered for maximum escapism and binge-ability. But there are problems with this digestibility. When something is familiar and goes down easy, there’s the temptation to keep from questioning it. Pretty as it is, some harmful tropes are perpetuated here that might be better left drying up like roadkill in the Texas sun.

A variety of mostly white characters inhabit this canyon of Ransom: There are nepo-baby ranchers, a grumpy old one (a wise-cracking James Brolin), some wayward teens, pretty ladies both sassy and sweet, a mysterious and often shirtless stranger, and a sheriff. The show’s focus pivots from love triangle to love triangle, with a bit of whodunnit and rancher politics thrown into the mix for added drama. The main conflict centres on two ranchers—competitors and brothers-in-law—competing for the affections of beautiful boss babe Quinn O’Grady (Friday Night Lights’ Minka Kelly). The lesser romantic interest is Davis Collins (Eoin Macken), a thrice-divorced single father with some grifter tendencies but enough of a sweet streak to interest this lady. He’s determined to get his fellow landowners to grant Austin Water and Power access to build a pipeline through their properties to benefit the community—or so he argues. The other, the clear hero of the show, is cattle rancher Staten Kirkland (Duhamel), a still-grieving widower who’s now also mourning the loss of his only child. He’s a man determined to hold onto his land and legacy at all costs, as long as he has his girl Quinn around to carry his baggage in exchange for some longing glances and occasional acts of service.

It’s not that dynamics like this don’t exist in real relationships. They do. It’s a matter of what these characters represent that makes this pairing problematic. The romantic leads in binge-able entertainment like this are meant to reflect the shorthand standards for what is deemed attractive, and permissible, to the culture at large. To root for these characters, a majority of this show’s audience needs to approve of—or at least recognize—their values.

Duhamel, for example, sports his cowboy scruff well as Staten and delivers exactly the kind of honest, understated performance that the role demands. As tiring as it is to see a dude wedded to the enterprise of never owning his own issues, frequently dismiss a devoted and exceptional woman, people are familiar with this behaviour and co-sign it as regular-guy stuff. And it’s especially excusable here because this man is grieving. Now, he does wise up some over the arc of the season, especially after she starts dating the other guy. But how far in the direction of a loving, compassionate partnership can a person reasonably go from such a dismal baseline? Not far enough.

And if Staten represents what society agrees to tolerate and even celebrate in handsome men, Quinn, then, represents what women must be: perfect. Make no mistake, Kelly gives a pretty great performance here. She brings a warmth to this portrayal with her big, kind eyes and melodious voice that makes it easy to feel for Quinn. But the fact remains that her character is just doing too much, which somehow comes off as completely normal. She is excellent at all things. She grows lavender, arguably the cutest thing for someone to farm; is quietly a New York Philharmonic-level concert pianist; and is the owner-manager of Ransom Canyon’s one venue in town, a dance hall called Gracie’s. She occupies an always immaculate honeysuckle-yellow dream house, with the coziest front porch ever to grace a Texas property, one she shares with no one but her little dog Biscuit. A couple of horses chill nearby in the barn.

Embodying the American individualistic ideal, Quinn prefers to go it alone, only sometimes tolerating help from Staten or her friend and aspiring business partner, Ellie Estevez (Marianly Tejada), to build Gracie’s brand. Judging by Quinn’s example, women have to be able to independently do the equivalent of juggling three very cool jobs while acting as volunteer emotional support to a grown man. Meanwhile, the guy can remain focused on his one job and make no effort to manage his own feelings—or anyone else’s—beyond that. Basically, she has to be capable of fixing a belt on her tractor, grinding through paperwork, banging out a piano piece, and making fancy lavender soap, from seed to suds, while he can ranch and sulk. Cool.

That said, no one can fault the scenery in Ransom Canyon.

The canyon itself is rather lovely, and the show captures some spectacular images, from sparkling and cascading creeks and green vistas to lots of horses kicking up dust, eating alfalfa, and galloping around. There’s some authenticity under all of its polish, and the setting ensures that. Various sights and symbols pop up to signpost the show’s Texanness as well—UT, Ford F-100s, tornados, rodeo, football, lake partying, old guys calling young guys “soy boys,” and cowboy hats galore—to make sure the audience really gets it.

Complementing Ransom Canyon’s ambiance is a somewhat surprising soundtrack, which features songs that span the breadth of modern country, including ‘Fancy Like’ by Walker Hayes and an in-person musical appearance by Americana artist Charley Crockett. Plus, there are some welcome picks outside of that genre by the likes of Cat Power, José Gonzáles, and Khraungbin (the Leon Bridges collab ‘Texas Sun,’ of course). Staten sings some ’90s Hootie, too. The range ensures that any casual viewer is likely to hear something they’re into. It’s another attempt to please.

Maybe Ransom Canyon’s more vibey elements are all that matter to the show’s intended audience anyway. Maybe they just want to see a tasteful amount of skin with a Western overlay and some good tunes. If they do notice the themes echoing through the show—the dubious ethnic representation, say, or the stagnant gender politics—maybe these things can be brushed aside as they watch a woman almost have it all, if only one mopey man could see her worth. But that doesn’t make it any less of a bummer.

– Courtesy: avclub.com