1923 is a Western drama that whisks you back to early 20th century. It is a prequel to Yellowstone and sequel to 1883. Dutton family deals with tough times like Prohibition, drought and Great Depression. This show shows their battles and wins against backdrop of Western expansion. Get ready for a wild ride as you see Duttons’ grit and determination in this captivating story.

Meet the characters from 1923

Emma Dutton

Emma is the kind of woman who runs a house and a ranch in almost the same breath — firm, warm, and absolutely not to be messed with. She’s maternal but also a little fierce, like she will braid your hair and then make you shovel hay at dawn (in a very loving way, I swear). There’s this softness under her grit, a laugh that comes out of nowhere and then she’s back to steely calm; also she collects teaspoons for reasons she’ll never fully explain. She’s quietly clever, keeps secrets like postcards in a Bible, and you can tell she’s seen things that made her stronger, though she sometimes cries at sunsets — or maybe that was the other day, I can’t quite remember.

Jacob Dutton

Jacob is the rock — big, weathered, the one everyone sort of orients around whether they want to or not. He runs the ranch like it’s an old clock: precise, stubborn, occasionally terrifying, but he also mends fences by hand and sings off-key to the horses (seriously, he does, and it’s somehow soothing). He’s honorable to a fault, which is great until it makes him reckless; proud but oddly sentimental about very strange things, like old coal receipts. You can imagine him with a cigar and a kind of weary humor, the kind that hides a lifetime of tough calls and softer regrets.

John Dutton, Sr.

John Sr. is complicated in the best way — protector, impatient, and wrapped up in a layered sort of guilt that he never quite says out loud. He’s softer than Jacob in some moments and harsher in others; like one second he’s reading to the kids and the next he’s barking orders that make the whole place scramble (in a good way? maybe). He keeps a dog-eared Bible and a terrible habit of humming hymns off-key, and somehow that makes him look both fierce and oddly tender. He’s the kind of father who’ll lecture you for hours about pride and then sneak you an extra slice of pie when no one’s looking.

Cara Dutton

Cara is fire wrapped in floral prints — sharp, funny, and she will cut you with kindness if you’re not paying attention. She’s practical and has a laugh that can fill a room, but also a stubborn streak that makes her downright dangerous when she’s set on something. There’s this handful of contradictions: she likes needlework and also loves swearing at bad horses, collects buttons but never fixes her watch, and she’s fiercely protective in a way that’s almost comedic until it isn’t. You really get the sense she holds the family together with a thread and a joke and would absolutely refuse to admit she’s the glue.

Zane

Zane is the wildcard — you never quite know whether he’s plotting, charming, or just tired, which is half the fun. He’s quick with a grin and quicker with a plan, and his loyalty feels earned not given (or maybe it’s the other way around? I can’t remember). He’s funny in a dry, razor-sharp way, and he’s got a habit of leaving small, weird gifts around — like a pebble on a windowsill — which is either romantic or suspicious. He’s the kind you’d trust to ride out in a storm with you and also the kind who might start a fistfight at the worst possible moment, but always for a reason.

Jack Dutton

Jack is hot-blooded, earnest, and kind of adorably reckless — the son who wants to prove himself and mostly succeeds, except when he spectacularly doesn’t. He’s brave in a way that makes you cheer and cringes you at the same time; like, go on Jack, be brave, but maybe don’t start a bar brawl? He loves hard, messes up, apologizes badly, and then does something noble to make up for it — it’s a cycle, I live for it. Also he collects pocket knives for some reason, which is perfectly normal and also suspiciously dramatic.

Teonna

Teonna is quietly magnetic — thoughtful, steady, and she brings a calm you didn’t know you needed until she shows up. She’s wise beyond her years in small, practical ways (plants, remedies, ways of knowing weather without looking at the sky) but still laughs like a child at silly jokes, which is the best combo. There’s a layer of mystery about her — she reads people like books and keeps a few pages dog-eared — and she sometimes surprises everyone by being the one with the simplest, most brutal truth. She’s humble but not afraid to stand tall, and has a soft spot for stray cats, which she denies, obviously.

Sister Mary

Sister Mary is a surprising blend of strict faith and soft mischief — like she could give a sermon and also sneak you pie from the kitchen if she thinks you need it. She’s disciplined and has rules, but there’s warmth there that makes you trust her, even when she looks terrifyingly principled. She carries herself with this calm certainty and also tells the best stories at night — which, yes, sometimes include a questionable pun or two. She’s both the moral compass and the unexpected friend who knows when to push and when to hold your hand, and she might secretly hate organ music, but that’s just a rumor.