The Last Rodeo Review: Aging Legends and Family Bonds

The screen erupts in a thunder of hooves, each stomp a heartbeat echoing across the arena. In this realm of adrenaline and grit, The Last Rodeo stakes its claim, inviting viewers into the unforgiving world of Professional Bull Riders. Here, seasoned veterans and fresh-faced contenders collide beneath spotlights and swirling dust, while one man dares to defy time itself.

Joe Wainwright, once a circuit legend, now tills soil on his family’s ranch. His eyes carry the weight of past triumphs and private sorrows, the kind that settle into the lines of a face weathered by wind and hardship. When his grandson receives a dire diagnosis, the specter of medical bills looms larger than any bull he’s ever mounted. What drives a fifty-something cowboy back into the chute of danger?

Jon Avnet, sharing writing credit with star Neal McDonough, balances raw rodeo sequences with moments of quiet intimacy. The film moves between the roar of the crowd and hushed hospital halls, trading spurred action for tender glances without ever softening its edges. At 118 minutes, rated PG, it asks whether family bonds can bend the laws of probability—and whether faith, tested beneath blinding lights, can deliver the world’s longest eight seconds.

Mapping Redemption in Three Acts

From the opening moments, The Last Rodeo unfolds with deliberate contrast. Act I finds Joe Wainwright in the quiet expanse of his ranch, where the rhythmic creak of gates replaces the roar of an arena. His bond with Sally and grandson Cody feels grounded—shared meals over chipped plates, furtive glances across sun-drenched pastures—until a stray baseball turns routine into crisis. Cody’s concussion gives way to a harsh diagnosis, and the film’s tension crystallizes: medical bills loom like an unbridled bull, and Joe’s only hope lies in one final ride.

Act II picks up pace as Joe summons Charlie, the retired bullfighter with equal parts grit and grace. Training scenes double as emotional excavations: sweat-soaked sessions reveal old scars, while flashbacks hint at past regrets. Charlie’s steady presence offers more than coaching; he embodies a moral lodestar in a world driven by prize money and spectacle.

Meanwhile, Sally’s wariness toward her father’s plan cuts through the dust—her distrust, born of years spent cleaning up his mistakes, clashes with Joe’s silent resolve. These exchanges ground the film’s sports scenes in lived relationships, even as the DNA of the underdog narrative pulses at its core.

Act III arrives in Tulsa with all the fanfare of the Legends Championship. Neon lights and blaring announcements usher in younger rivals, each more polished and eager than the last. Jimmy Mack, the PBR official, looms as gatekeeper of redemption, his corporate polish contrasting with Joe’s weathered authenticity. Then comes the crucible: eight seconds atop a bucking behemoth, time stretched taut between hope and disaster.

The camera oscillates—GoPro angles capture muscle and sinew, slow-motion isolates fear and determination—while the score tightens its grip. Victory or defeat hinges on those fleeting heartbeats, and the film tests whether age can meet aspiration on equal terms.

Throughout, the narrative balances high-octane spectacle with whispered family moments. Flashback interludes deepen Joe’s motivations, but the pacing drifts at times, the film’s second act pausing too long in character beats before reigniting with arena drama. Yet these lulls underscore the stakes, offering space for reflection even as the story gallops toward its final buzzer.

Faces of Courage and Conviction

Joe Wainwright emerges as a study in restrained force. Neal McDonough carves a silhouette of stoicism—a square jaw set against dusty horizons, blue eyes narrowing beneath a brimmed hat. His posture speaks of battles long past, yet every line etched on his face becomes a roadmap of regret and resolve.

In scenes of raw frustration—punching a dented truck door—Joe’s silent fury shifts into a quieter determination that ripples beneath each subsequent ride. The final arena sequence crystallizes this arc, with McDonough’s controlled breaths amplifying the tension of eight seconds dangling between redemption and ruin.

By contrast, Mykelti Williamson’s Charlie Williams radiates kinetic warmth. Part bullfighter, part spiritual compass, his presence punctures the film’s grit with moments of disarming humor. Williamson navigates that duality effortlessly: one moment he’s deflecting a quip about an aging rider, the next he’s urging Joe toward higher purpose.

Their banter feels lived-in, textured by shared history yet never drifting into rote camaraderie. Charlie’s faith-based encouragement anchors Joe’s audacious quest, presenting belief not as platitude but as an undercurrent that carries the narrative forward.

Sarah Jones crafts Sally Wainwright as a pillar of resilience. Her gaze balances love and exasperation, especially in waiting-room exchanges where a daughter’s protective instincts collide with a father’s stubborn pride. Jones conveys all the tension of someone who has weathered lives upended—her voice cracks amid pleas to set aside past wounds, while her posture softens in fleeting, guarded embraces.

Graham Harvey’s Cody functions as more than a plot device; he personifies innocence under threat. Harvey imbues the boy’s wide-eyed enthusiasm with quiet gravity, each playful swing at a baseball foreshadowing the hush of hospital corridors.

Christopher McDonald’s Jimmy Mack cuts an impeccably groomed figure amid grimy bleachers, embodying PBR’s corporate sheen. And real-life PBR stars weave authenticity through the crowd, their cameo rides echoing the sport’s pulse. Together, these performances form a tapestry of human stakes, from bruised egos to battered hearts, each actor grounding the spectacle in lived emotion.

Framing the Frontier: Visual Grit and Rodeo Reverie

Jon Avnet orchestrates a visual symphony of contrast, shifting effortlessly from the ranch’s muted ochres to the arena’s glaring floodlights. Wide lenses capture the Texas plains in a weather-beaten hush, only to give way to cavernous stadium shots where shadows dance across bucking beasts. In moments of quiet reflection, close-ups linger on weathered features—each furrow and flinch speaking volumes before a single word is uttered.

The rodeo sequences pulse with visceral energy. A mélange of GoPro angles and slow-motion flourishes plunges viewers into that perilous eight-second crucible. Point-of-view shots position the audience atop sinewed backs, while rapid-fire editing heightens every muscle spasm and crowd gasp. The rhythm of cuts mirrors Joe’s racing heartbeat, tightening with each thrust of horn and tremor of ground.

Avnet’s production design anchors these thrills in authenticity. The barn reeks of hay and sweat, a stark counterpoint to sterile hospital corridors and Tulsa’s gleaming pavilion. Costumes trace character arcs—worn denim and scuffed chaps for veterans, neon-stenciled chaps and polished helmets for the up-and-comers—each stitch marking a chapter in rodeo lore.

Sound design deepens immersion: the low rumble of hooves, the roar of thousands, even the metallic clang of gate latches. Moments of introspection settle under a sparse piano motif, while charged sequences erupt in pulse-quickening anthems.

Real PBR riders slip into the frame without fanfare, lending every tumble and triumph an unvarnished edge. Where stunt doubles and digital tweaks appear, they remain respectful brushstrokes on Avnet’s broad canvas—proof that cinematic craft can amplify raw spectacle without erasing its grit.

Rodeo of the Heart: Sacrifice and Survival

Blood and dust converge in The Last Rodeo as Joe Wainwright stakes his body on the back of a bull to secure his grandson’s future. This is no mere stunt of bravado; it’s sacrifice rendered in sinew and bone. The film positions his gamble—his willingness to risk paralysis or worse—as an act of devotion so raw it undercuts any notion of spectacle.

In the quiet interludes, father and daughter circle one another with unspoken regrets, their reconciliation unfolding in glances rather than grand confessions. Sally’s hard-won forgiveness becomes a quiet triumph, a testament to love that endures beneath the roar of the arena.

Redemption here is inseparable from faith. Joe’s journey through past addictions and the ghost of his late wife carries the weight of unfinished business. Charlie Williams moves through these scenes like a spiritual cartographer, charting the terrain of belief without proselytizing. His steady injunctions to trust something larger than pain tether Joe’s desperation to a broader moral gravity, ensuring that moments of triumph never drift into hollow exhilaration.

Age takes center stage in the Legends Championship, where the veneer of youthful vigor meets the worn patina of experience. The “legends” competition becomes a metaphor for life’s closing chapters—each ride a reckoning with time’s relentless march. In pursuing one final victory, Joe insists that worth isn’t measured in years but in the courage to confront them on his own terms.

Beneath this drama lies a sharper edge: the critique of a healthcare system that demands a million-dollar ticket for survival. Cody’s diagnosis highlights the unfair arithmetic of medical debt, while the rodeo’s prize money stands as a grim alternative to insurance realities. It’s a narrative pivot that transforms melodrama into social commentary, yet the film’s sincerity shields it from cliché. The actors’ raw commitment—grit tempered by genuine warmth—ensures that sentiment never erodes into sentimentality, allowing each emotional beat to land with authentic resonance.

Gears of Grit: Crafting Rodeo Realism

Scenes splice together with purposeful momentum, though occasional stretches reveal seams where transitions tug against the narrative current. When exposition emerges, it favors taut, dialogue-driven exchanges over heavy-handed voice-overs, yet a handful of moments lean into tell-rather-than-show, briefly pausing the film’s rhythm.

Cinematography shifts like a seasoned rider shifting weight: intimate close-ups capture flickers of doubt in Joe’s eyes, while wide lenses sweep in the arena’s vast churn of dust and muscle. Telephoto frames compress the crowd into a living tapestry, then snap back to reveal the raw vulnerability of a single man atop a bucking beast.

The score threads through these images with deft nuance. Sparse piano motifs linger in quiet interludes, giving breath to unspoken regrets, while surging percussion and brass herald each mounting ride. Sound mixing keeps dialogue crisp even beneath roaring hooves—the hiss of the crowd never overwhelms the weight of a whispered promise.

Visual effects remain judicious, preserving the sport’s visceral punch without succumbing to digital gloss. Color grading balances warm, sunlit earth tones on the ranch against cooler, sterner hues under arena lights. At every turn, production choices honor the film’s modest scale, letting authenticity rise above slick veneer—proof that sincerity need not sacrifice polish.

The Last Rodeo was released on May 23, 2025, and is distributed by Angel Studios.

Full Credits

Director: Jon Avnet

Writers: Jon Avnet, Neal McDonough, Derek Presley

Producers: Jon Avnet, Kip Konwiser, Neal McDonough, Ruvé McDonough, Darren Moorman, Stephen Preston

Executive Producers: Craig Cheek, David Polemeni, Scott Pomeroy, A. Michael Roman, Tyler Zacharia

Cast: Neal McDonough, Mykelti Williamson, Sarah Jones, Christopher McDonald, Ruvé McDonough, Daylon Swearingen, Graham Harvey, Irene Bedard, Clint Adkins, Gabriel Sousa, Kamen Casey, Kaden Taylor, Brook Banks, Jeffrey Brucculeri, Brenda Epperson, Emily Faith, Mollie Milligan, Gabrielle Reyes, Jon Avnet

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Denis Lenoir

Editor: Tom Costantino

Composer: Jeff Russo