A Western About Cowboys, Indians … and Mormons
Overall, American Primeval, the new Western on Netflix which takes place in the early days of Utah’s settlement, is a good show—in a directional sense. That is, it is enjoyable because it represents a step in the right direction. On the one hand it avoids the usual mistakes made by most historical television series in this genre, providing a good example for other shows to follow. On the other hand, it has some structural flaws and missed opportunities that prevent it from being a truly great show.
The show’s main virtue is its refreshing commitment to being historically realistic, if not always perfectly accurate. Even though it’s mostly shot in New Mexico, this is close enough to capturing the rugged, open terrain of 1850s Utah. The sets all feel real: the dirty, crowded Fort Bridger; the busy teepee encampments of the Shoshoni; and the random trading outposts and cabins nestled in the forests and hills. The characters all make their way on narrow dirt roads with their horses, ox-drawn wagons, or their own two feet. Like any good Western, the series transports the audience to that particular time when life was slower yet far more grounded and dangerous.
The show’s director Peter Berg and writer Mark Smith also take care to stay faithful to the specific history of their story and deal with its complexities. Conflicts abound between the early pioneers, Native American tribes, the U.S. Army, and the Church of Latter-day Saints (LDS), all of whom are trying to stake their claim in an unforgiving environment. Meanwhile, various adventurers and refugees periodically arrive, hoping to escape their past and make a new life for themselves.
The whole story takes place during the Utah War and is based around the Mountain Meadows Massacre, in which a Mormon militia disguised as Shoshone warriors slaughters a large caravan of settlers whom they believe are spying for the U.S. Army and infiltrating their “Promised Land.” As is his duty, Captain Dellinger of the U.S. Army investigates the massacre, knowing full well that everyone in this region wants him and his people gone.
Much like a Cormac McCarthy novel, Berg and Smith opt for a darker vision of the American West, where violence and exploitation are rampant, and the trappings of civilization are utterly superficial. People are regularly killed, kidnapped, raped, and enslaved. Occasionally, the show’s violence and gore become somewhat excessive, but it never strains credulity and fits with the overall tone of the series.
In addition to the show’s gritty realism, the show’s pacing is also a point in its favor. There is never a dull moment since so many things are happening—often too many things. While the main protagonists Sarah Roswell and Isaac Reed are on the run from bounty hunters, the bounty hunters argue with how far they want to go in pursuing them, the perpetrators of the massacre are covering their tracks and silencing witnesses, Captain Dillinger is investigating the massacre, Brigham Young is trying to buy Fort Bridger, a young Mormon man searches for his kidnapped wife, his kidnapped wife learns the ways of the Shoshone who adopt her, and the Shoshone leaders debate whether to fight the white settlers or keep moving. Occasionally, there are some moments of reflection, though they rarely rise above nihilistic resignation.
Of course, since this is 2025 and most writers and directors in Hollywood suffer from some strain of the woke mind virus, most people will wonder if this show has implausible “representative” casting, obnoxious monologues condemning prejudice, or strong female characters triumphing against all odds. Fortunately, realism and reason prevail, so almost none of this happens. The men act like men, the women act like women, and there are a few obvious good guys and bad guys. Only occasionally does the show indulge the trope of the Noble Savage, depicting the Shoshone as superlatively magnanimous, humane, and wise compared to the white settlers actively pushing them off their own land.
Where the show falls critically short is in its character development. As the many interconnected storylines indicate, most of this is a consequence of having far too many characters. Although Berg and Smith deserve credit for weaving together so many threads, their broader scope prevents them from giving adequate treatment to each and every character. True, they could have just added more episodes to cover all this ground, but the show’s pacing would slow down to a snail’s pace and feel like the second season of "House of the Dragon." By the end of it, most of the characters seem more like stereotypes than actual people.
This leaves little room for any of the actors to do much with what they’re given. The most engaging performances tend to come from those playing the villains, like Kim Coates as Brigham Young, Jai Courtney as the bounty hunter, and Alex Breaux as the Mormon militia leader “Wild Bill.” They convey the intimidating toughness and duplicity required of that time. The same really can’t be said of the protagonists who tend to be one-dimensional, irritating, and continually make dumb decisions that somehow don’t get them killed.
Besides the underdeveloped characters and limited performances, the overcrowded cast can also be blamed for the flagrantly negative depiction of the early Mormons coming into Utah. It’s fair to depict them as members of a fanatical polygamous cult—seeing what they were dealing with, they almost had to be—but even so, they are still human.
The TV miniseries Waco did a great job presenting a sympathetic yet honest depiction of this type, taking care to show their motivations and the logic of cult followers instead of casting them as mindless zealots. Rather than emulate this, Berg and Smith seemed to mimic "Under the Banner of Heaven," an otherwise great show that unjustly uses the story of radical Mormon murderers in the 80s to demonize the founders of the LDS Church.
With these drawbacks in mind, it helps to view American Primeval as a kind of transitional television series that leaves behind some of the more frustrating aspects of today’s storytelling and brings back some much-needed plausibility. While the creators end up biting off more than they can chew, they at least put together something that is watchable and illuminating. More importantly, they show that it’s still possible to explore some of America’s lesser-known chapters in an honest and compelling way without resorting to cheap tricks and woke preaching.
Auguste Meyrat is an English teacher and freelance writer in the Dallas area. He is the founding editor of The Everyman, a senior contributor to The Federalist, and has written for essays for The American Mind, The American Conservative, Religion and Liberty, Crisis Magazine, and elsewhere. Follow him on X.
