Before the private jets and sprawling dynasties of Yellowstone took over every television screen in America, Taylor Sheridan was just a guy in a 700-square-foot apartment on Sunset Boulevard trying to survive. He had a baby, a wife, and a career as a journeyman actor that was basically circling the drain. He’d written Sicario, but nobody would touch it. So, he sat down and wrote a story about two brothers robbing banks to save a ranch.
He called it Comancheria. You probably know it as Taylor Sheridan Hell or High Water.
Most people think of this movie as a simple heist flick. Two brothers, Toby and Tanner Howard, hit small-town branches of Texas Midlands Bank. They only take small bills. They bury the getaway cars. It feels like a throwback to the 70s, but it’s actually a surgical strike on the concept of the American Dream. Sheridan didn’t just write a screenplay; he wrote an autopsy of West Texas.
The Personal Failure Behind the Script
Honestly, the most interesting thing about the Taylor Sheridan Hell or High Water screenplay isn't the gunfights. It’s the desperation. Sheridan has admitted that Toby Howard—played by Chris Pine—was born out of his own fear of failing his family. He was broke. He felt like his poor choices were limiting his child’s future. That’s why the movie feels so lived-in.
It’s not just a "crime" movie. It’s a movie about the "intergenerational inheritance of poverty." That’s a heavy phrase for a film where Ben Foster shoots a machine gun at a lynch mob of angry Texans in pickup trucks, but it’s the truth. Sheridan wanted to explore how a cycle of debt can become a terminal disease for a family.
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Breaking Every Screenwriting Rule
Sheridan is famous for hating exposition. He calls himself "allergic" to it. Most writers would have started the movie with a 20-minute prologue: Toby losing the ranch, the mother dying, the discovery of oil, the planning of the heist.
Sheridan? He starts with the first bank robbery.
The audience is dropped into the chaos with zero context. You have to earn the information. You learn about the oil and the predatory loans through snippets of dialogue at diners or while the brothers are washing a car. It makes the world feel real because, in real life, people don’t sit around explaining their backstories to each other.
The Modern Frontier Trilogy
A lot of fans don’t realize that Taylor Sheridan Hell or High Water is the middle child of a thematic trilogy. Sheridan views Sicario, Hell or High Water, and Wind River as a single body of work exploring the "Modern American Frontier."
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- Sicario looks at the drug war on the border.
- Hell or High Water looks at the economic decay of the plains.
- Wind River looks at the lawlessness on Indian reservations.
In all three, the landscape is a character. In Hell or High Water, the "antagonist" isn't really the Texas Rangers. It’s the banks. Everywhere the brothers drive, they pass signs for "Fast Cash" and "Debt Relief." The buildings are rotting. The only things that look new and shiny are the bank branches they're robbing. It’s a subtle touch, but it’s why the movie resonates with people who feel like the system is rigged against them.
Marcus and Alberto: The Other Side of the Coin
While the Howard brothers are the heart of the movie, Jeff Bridges’ Marcus Hamilton is the soul. Marcus is a Texas Ranger weeks away from a mandatory retirement he doesn’t want. He’s based on Sheridan’s real-life cousin, a federal marshal who was "robbed of his purpose" by a forced retirement.
The relationship between Marcus and his partner, Alberto (Gil Birmingham), is one of the best things Sheridan has ever written. It’s filled with "casual" racism and constant bickering, which some critics found "on the nose," but if you’ve spent five minutes in a rural Texas coffee shop, you know it’s 100% authentic. It’s how men in that world show affection without having to be "vulnerable."
Why the Ending Still Sparks Debate
The final confrontation between Toby and Marcus on the porch is legendary. No one dies. No one gets "closure."
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Sheridan originally intended to write a violent shootout, but as he was typing, he realized that a modern western shouldn’t end with a showdown in the street. It should be interrupted by an SUV and kids coming home from school. That’s the reality of the "modern" frontier. The violence is quiet. It’s hidden behind property lines and legal documents.
Marcus knows Toby did it. Toby knows Marcus knows. But the "law" is satisfied because Tanner (the brother who actually killed people) is dead. It leaves the audience in a moral gray area. You want Toby to get away with it because he did it for his kids, but you also feel the weight of the lives lost along the way.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Writers
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of Taylor Sheridan Hell or High Water, or if you're a writer trying to capture this specific brand of "grit," here’s what you should look for:
- Watch the background: Pay attention to the billboards and radio broadcasts in the movie. They tell a parallel story about the 2008 financial crisis that the characters never explicitly discuss.
- Study the "Rule of Two": Notice how Sheridan pairs characters. Two brothers, two Rangers, two waitresses. Each pair reflects a different perspective on the same struggle.
- Listen to the soundtrack: Nick Cave and Warren Ellis did the score, but the needle drops—like Townes Van Zandt—were written into the script by Sheridan. It’s the "soundtrack of his youth."
The best way to appreciate the genius of Taylor Sheridan Hell or High Water is to watch it back-to-back with Wind River. You’ll see how Sheridan uses the same "absurdly simple plots" to hide incredibly complex social commentary. It’s a masterclass in "showing, not telling."
Go back and watch the diner scene with the "T-Bone Steak" waitress again. It’s probably the most honest three minutes of cinema about the American working class produced in the last twenty years. It doesn't need a sequel. It doesn't need a spin-off. It’s just a perfect piece of storytelling that reminds us why Taylor Sheridan became a household name in the first place.