Billy Bob Thornton on Robert Duvall: Untold Mentorship Stories Behind ‘Landman’
When a veteran like Billy Bob Thornton pauses the promo machine for Paramount+ drama Landman to talk about Robert Duvall—who died on February 15 at 95—you pay attention. In a recent exclusive with Deadline, Thornton folds a mini‑masterclass in acting, a love letter to his mentor, and some wonderfully oddball stories into what could have been a standard press tour chat.
The result is less a conventional TV promo and more a cultural handoff: one of America’s great character actors reflecting on another, filling in the human details behind an almost mythic filmography that stretches from The Godfather to Open Range.
Robert Duvall’s Legacy: From Tom Hagen to Quiet Mentor
For most viewers, Robert Duvall is inseparable from a handful of iconic roles: Tom Hagen in The Godfather, Lt. Kilgore in Apocalypse Now, the aching country singer in Tender Mercies, and the world‑weary Texas lawman in Lonesome Dove. What Thornton underlines is that behind those performances was a working actor who treated movie sets like laboratories rather than red carpets.
- Range: From quiet legal consigliere to operatic war‑movie bravado.
- Longevity: A career spanning over six decades, from 1960s TV to 21st‑century indies.
- Influence: Revered by actors as different as Billy Bob Thornton, Tom Hanks, and Denzel Washington.
That breadth matters in the context of Landman, a Taylor Sheridan–produced drama set in the world of West Texas oil. Thornton’s presence is an explicit nod to that lineage of American character work: wounded, specific, sometimes funny in ways that feel accidentally profound.
Billy Bob’s Duvall Stories: Warm, Weird, and Very On‑Brand
The heart of the Deadline piece lies in Thornton’s stories—vivid little Polaroids of Duvall being exactly as intense and idiosyncratic as his characters suggest, but also funnier and more generous than his tough‑guy roles let on.
“He was as serious about the work as anyone I’ve ever known, but the man could also tell a story that would have the whole crew in tears laughing,” Thornton recalls, painting Duvall as both drill sergeant and campfire raconteur.
The “deep dark secret” Thornton teases in the interview plays less like tabloid fodder and more like a private quirk, the kind of detail actors stash away about each other—equal parts affectionate and protective. The specifics are delivered with a wink rather than a sting, keeping the tone far from exposé territory.
- On‑set rituals: Duvall’s love of running scenes until they felt lived‑in, not just memorized.
- Off‑camera humor: His knack for puncturing tension with perfectly timed, usually deadpan jokes.
- Private eccentricities: Framed not as “gotchas” but as evidence of a fully inhabited life.
Mentorship, Craft, and the “Character Actor” Label
One of the most revealing threads in the interview is how Thornton describes Duvall’s unspoken mentorship. This wasn’t a formal Yoda‑and‑Luke setup; it was more like apprenticeship by osmosis. Shared scenes, shared trailers, and the occasional blunt note that hit harder than any acting class.
“He’d never give you a ten‑minute lecture,” Thornton suggests. “He’d give you one sentence that stayed with you for ten years.”
This is where the term “character actor” gets complicated. Both men have worn it, sometimes proudly, sometimes as code for “not the conventional romantic lead.” Yet in practice it often means:
- They disappear into roles rather than brand themselves above the story.
- They age in public without trying to out‑run time.
- They treat supporting roles as opportunities, not consolation prizes.
Thornton’s reverence here is clear but not worshipful; he’s candid about Duvall’s intensity and occasional stubbornness, framing them as part of the same engine that powered legendary performances.
How ‘Landman’ Fits the Duvall–Thornton Lineage of American Dramas
While the Deadline piece is framed around Landman, the series also works as a vessel for everything Thornton says he learned watching Duvall. Created by Taylor Sheridan, Landman digs into the rough‑edged world of oil rig politics, environmental fallout, and blue‑collar survival—terrain that feels spiritually adjacent to the dusty moral universes Duvall once roamed.
Sheridan’s house style—seen in Yellowstone, Hell or High Water, and Sicario—leans into stoic men, compromised institutions, and landscapes that double as character studies. Thornton’s presence adds a layer of lived‑in melancholy that he practically credits to Duvall’s influence.
- Performance style: Understated line readings, big emotional undercurrents.
- Setting: A modern Western of sorts, where oil derricks replace cattle drives.
- Character DNA: You can feel traces of Duvall’s grounded cowboys and world‑weary sheriffs in Thornton’s corporate‑oil operator.
Reviewing the Deadline Piece: Tribute, PR, or Something In‑Between?
As a piece of entertainment journalism, the Deadline interview walks a tricky line. It’s technically a promotional hook for Landman, timed in the shadow of Duvall’s passing—an irresistible combination for studios and readers alike. Yet there’s a sincerity to Thornton’s recollections that keeps it from feeling purely engineered.
From a critical standpoint, the article succeeds in three key ways:
- Contextualizing legacy: It reminds readers how central Duvall was to late‑20th‑century American cinema.
- Humanizing the icon: The stories feel specific enough to cut past generic “he was great” eulogies.
- Connecting eras: It positions Landman as part of a longer artistic conversation rather than a standalone product drop.
Where it’s a bit lighter is in pushback. The piece doesn’t press too hard on Duvall’s rougher edges or on the industry’s tendency to lionize male “difficult geniuses” while policing everyone else. It isn’t that kind of story; it’s elegy crossed with brand alignment.
The effect is less hard‑nosed profile than an oral‑history fragment: one colleague memorializing another, with the studio happy to let their new series ride shotgun.
Why These Stories Matter in 2026
In a streaming ecosystem that increasingly prizes IP over actors, Thornton’s memories of Robert Duvall land like a low‑key manifesto: the work still starts and ends with performance. The method may be unfussy, the anecdotes warm, but the underlying message is serious—craft is the legacy that actually survives the hype cycle.
For younger viewers who mostly know Duvall as “that guy from your parents’ DVDs,” this interview functions as an invitation to dig back through a filmography that quietly shaped modern screen acting. For fans of Landman, it reframes Thornton’s new role as part of an unbroken chain of American storytellers, from New Hollywood’s 1970s to prestige TV’s 2020s.
The Deadline piece doesn’t pretend to be the definitive word on Robert Duvall. What it does offer—and what makes it worth your time—is a rare, affectionate glimpse into how one working actor processed another’s genius, flaws, and influence. In an era obsessed with algorithms and franchises, that kind of first‑person remembrance feels quietly radical.
