Before Yellowstone became one of Paramount’s defining TV juggernauts, Taylor Sheridan’s neo-Western saga nearly found its home at HBO. But the premium network famously passed on the project, calling it “too middle America” for their lineup. That decision has long fascinated fans and critics alike, especially now that Paramount’s bet on Sheridan has blossomed into a sprawling franchise empire. Yet looking back at Timothy Olyphant’s underappreciated Western series, it’s clear HBO already had the perfect model for how Yellowstone could have thrived under their banner.
Olyphant, best known for his charismatic yet quietly intense presence, has carried more than one Western on his shoulders. While many immediately think of Deadwood, the gritty and profane HBO drama that redefined the television Western in the early 2000s, there’s another project often overlooked: Justified. Though technically more of a crime drama with Western sensibilities, Justified captured the same balance of lawlessness, moral ambiguity, and rugged Americana that Yellowstone later perfected. Olyphant’s portrayal of Raylan Givens—an old-school U.S. Marshal with a gunslinger’s swagger—embodied the archetype Sheridan would later tap into for characters like John Dutton and Rip Wheeler.
So what does Olyphant’s forgotten Western prove about what Yellowstone could have been at HBO? Simply put: the network already had experience nurturing stories that thrived on atmosphere, dialogue, and antiheroes. Sheridan’s brand of storytelling—where flawed men and women fight to protect their land, their legacy, and their own codes of honor—would not have been foreign to HBO. In fact, the network had a track record of elevating similar tales into prestige territory, as evidenced by Deadwood’s Shakespearean dialogue and morally complex narratives.
Justified in particular serves as a fascinating case study. Though it aired on FX rather than HBO, its DNA is remarkably close to Sheridan’s later works. Set in rural Kentucky, the show explored generational feuds, corrupt power structures, and the blurry lines between law and outlaw life. Like Yellowstone, it featured morally conflicted protagonists, larger-than-life villains, and a landscape that served as a character in its own right. With Olyphant at its center, Justified proved that audiences would embrace a story that fused old Western tropes with modern dilemmas.
Had HBO greenlit Yellowstone, it’s easy to imagine Sheridan leaning into the network’s penchant for raw, layered storytelling. The result might have looked less like the soapy, melodramatic turns that some critics accuse Yellowstone of indulging in and more like a sprawling, prestige epic on par with Game of Thrones or The Sopranos. Characters like John Dutton could have been rendered with the same moral nuance as Al Swearengen or Tony Soprano, while the Montana landscape would have provided HBO’s trademark cinematic visuals.
But Olyphant’s Westerns also highlight the risk HBO might have faced. Shows like Deadwood and Justified—though critically adored—struggled at times to maintain mainstream ratings. Deadwood, in particular, ended prematurely despite its critical acclaim. Sheridan’s Yellowstone, by contrast, succeeded precisely because it blended prestige with soap opera flair, attracting a massive middle-American audience that may not have tuned into an HBO version. In other words, what HBO might have gained in artistry, they may have lost in cultural ubiquity.
Still, it’s hard not to play the “what if” game. Olyphant’s performances prove that audiences are hungry for modern Western heroes who are deeply human—tough but vulnerable, principled but flawed. Sheridan tapped into that same hunger with Kevin Costner’s John Dutton, but an HBO rendition might have leaned even further into the moral ambiguity. Would Beth Dutton have been even more ruthless under HBO’s watch? Would Rip’s brutality have been more uncompromising? Would the series have embraced even darker political and economic themes tied to land, power, and heritage?
Beyond storytelling, the Olyphant connection also underscores Sheridan’s knack for creating characters who embody the contradictions of the modern West. Raylan Givens, much like John Dutton, was a man out of time—too principled for a corrupt system, too ruthless to ever truly fit into polite society. Olyphant carried that role with the same mix of charm and steel that Sheridan would later demand of his own leads. It’s no wonder Sheridan himself has often spoken about wanting to redefine the Western genre for contemporary audiences; in many ways, Olyphant had already laid the groundwork.
There’s also a fascinating overlap in tone. Both Justified and Yellowstone use humor, violence, and family drama to balance their narratives. Neither shied away from portraying the brutality of survival, but both infused their stories with moments of levity and humanity. Olyphant’s deadpan wit as Raylan mirrored the biting one-liners of Beth Dutton, while the simmering tensions of Kentucky hollers weren’t so different from the high-stakes battles over Montana ranchland.
Ultimately, Timothy Olyphant’s forgotten Westerns serve as a reminder of how Yellowstone could have flourished at HBO—not necessarily as the pop-cultural juggernaut it became, but as a prestige Western that pushed the boundaries of television storytelling. HBO’s rejection created a sliding-doors moment in TV history: instead of becoming another critically adored but niche Western, Yellowstone became a franchise-building powerhouse for Paramount.
