Not many years ago, when the series Yellowstone first aired, many critics and viewers felt that American television had once again managed to create a work rooted in the old myths of the Western while also telling a contemporary human drama. Yellowstone was not merely the story of a large ranch in Montana; it was the story of the collision of two worlds: the world of capital and ruthless development on one side, and the world of tradition, family, and land on the other. The character of John Dutton, played by Kevin Costner, was a figure who, despite his toughness and occasional violence, possessed deep moral complexity. The audience might agree with him or disagree with him, but they could understand him.
However, when we turn to Marshals that was meant to continue that same universe, we gradually realize that the delicate balance between violence and humanity, between drama and action, and between myth and reality has almost entirely disappeared. What remains is closer to a sequence of relentless violent scenes in which characters enter the frame not to advance the drama, but simply to demonstrate power and to kill one another.
In Yellowstone, violence was part of the world of the story; in Marshals, violence has become the story itself. In fact, if many of the scenes of shootings, killings, and revenge were removed from this series, very little narrative would remain. This is precisely the point where the difference between a powerful drama and a violent spectacle becomes clear.
One of the important qualities of Yellowstone was that its characters were human before they picked up a gun. We came to know their doubts, their past wounds, and their moral conflicts. Even when the characters resorted to violence, that action existed within the context of a complicated and painful situation.
But in Marshals, many characters have been reduced to simple types: men whose only function is to shoot, and enemies whose only function is to die. In such an atmosphere, the moral complexity that sustains drama is gone. Everything has been simplified to an extreme: friend and enemy, hero and villain, and ultimately life and death.
As a result, the series gradually begins to resemble a video game—one in which the characters feel less like human beings confronting difficult choices and more like avatars moving through a digital battlefield.
One of the fundamental problems of Marshals, is the absence of any real sense of danger. In a powerful drama, violence becomes meaningful when the audience feels that something valuable is at stake: a relationship, a family, a life. But when death and gunfire turn into everyday events, their emotional impact disappears.
In many scenes of Marshals,, characters are killed without the audience ever having the chance to know them. Death is no longer a tragedy; it becomes a visual effect. This is exactly the point where the series moves away from the human world of Yellowstone and turns into a spectacle of violence. Perhaps one reason for this shift is the creators’ attempt to attract younger audiences. In the age of social media, speed in storytelling has become more important. Explosions, chases, and shootouts capture attention more quickly than long conversations.
But the question remains: must entertainment come at the cost of humanity? In many contemporary cultural products, violence has become increasingly normalized. From action films to video games and even some television series, human death is often turned into a visual element—something meant to create excitement rather than sorrow.
This phenomenon is not limited to a single series. It is part of today’s visual culture, a culture in which speed, shock, and spectacle replace reflection, emotion, and empathy. Within such an environment, the viewer gradually becomes accustomed to violence. Scenes that once felt shocking now appear ordinary. Gunfire, explosions, and death no longer evoke fear or sadness; they resemble the mechanics of a game.
One of the most troubling aspects of this trend is the gradual erosion of empathy in visual storytelling. When human death is used merely as a visual effect, the audience is no longer given the opportunity to feel. In classic cinema—even in war films—death was often accompanied by a sense of mourning. Films such as All Quiet on the Western Front or Paths of Glory demonstrated that war was first and foremost a human tragedy. But in many works today, death resembles a score in a game.
Unfortunately, Marshals, moves in the same direction. Violence is not merely serving the story; it has replaced it. Characters think less, feel less, and shoot more. The result is a world in which human life appears strangely worthless.
One of the reasons for the initial success of Yellowstone was that it allowed the viewer to breathe in the silence of the Montana plains. Long shots of nature, quiet conversations between characters, and moments of solitude created an atmosphere reminiscent of the classic Western cinema. In Marshals, those moments of silence have almost disappeared. The pace of the narrative has increased, and the opportunity for reflection has vanished. This change may appear to create more excitement on the surface, but in practice it drains the work of its spirit.
Ultimately, the central issue is not merely the quality of a television series. The issue is what kind of world our visual culture is representing. Is a world in which human lives are destroyed in a matter of seconds—without even a pause for mourning—the world we want younger generations to grow up with? Art, in its finest form, should strengthen our capacity for empathy. It should remind us that every human being has a story, a past, a family, and a life.
When that feeling disappears, violence is no longer merely an image on a screen; it becomes part of how we look at the world. And perhaps that is the greatest weakness of Marshals: instead of telling a human story, it simply places a chain of violent moments side by side. Moments that may create excitement for a few minutes, but never touch the human soul.
And one cannot help but ask: are the American soldiers who, without any real understanding of Iran or its people, participate in this senseless war and in the killing of innocent civilians not, in some way, shaped by the same worldview—one that has been nurtured and normalized by such attitudes within the American entertainment industry?
