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Stephen Montoya
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Stephen Montoya
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Stephen Montoya
It’s Monday night in Fort Worth, and the spring heir of anticipation was thick with something more electric than humidity — call it legacy, call it redemption, call it Texas pride. Inside the AMC Dine-In Clearfork 8, where the aroma of fresh popcorn mixed with the buzz of anticipation, the red carpet was unrolled not just for a film, but for a moment that resonated deep within. A belief. A bet on storytelling that swings for the fences and lands square in the chest.
The movie is “The Last Rodeo,” and the man at the center of it all is Neal McDonough — a walking contradiction of cinematic grit and Catholic faith, a Hollywood veteran whose piercing blue eyes have seen both heaven and hell on-screen. Tonight he's all warmth, handshakes, and smiles, dressed in a cowboy hat that doesn’t look like a costume. The guy means it.
And maybe that’s the thing about this movie. Everybody here means it.
Inside, under soft lights and cameras rolling like they're on rails, McDonough moves through the crowd like a hometown hero — even if he was raised in Massachusetts. He's not just the star; he’s the writer, the producer, the true believer. He co-wrote this story with Fort Worth native Derek Presley, and when director Jon Avnet got hold of the script, the ride began.
“I knew nothing about bull riding,” Avnet says, looking like a man who now knows everything about it. “But Neal said something simple and smart — he told me to make it my own.” And make it his own, he did. Avnet, known for emotionally textured films that land like novels you underline, didn’t just research bull riding — he found the human story inside it.
At its core, “The Last Rodeo” isn’t about riding bulls. It’s about falling off them — and learning how to climb back up again. It's a story of a grandfather fighting for his grandson, but it's also about grief, forgiveness, and the scar tissue of family. “Nobody teaches you how to mourn,” Avnet says softly. “This movie tries.”
Behind him, cameras catch flashes of cast members — Mykelti Williamson, Graham Harvey, Ruvé McDonough — but Williamson, as always, finds a way to steal the moment just by being real.
“The late, great Cotton Rosser gave me one of my first jobs in the rodeo,” he says, eyes sparkling with memory. “I’ve never let that book go.” And you can tell. For Williamson, this isn’t just a film. It’s part of his “legacy.” He says it more than once, and not for effect. He means it.
As the evening goes on, there's a strange comfort in how humble the entire affair feels. No screaming paparazzi. No designer drama. Just filmmakers, cowboys, and fans talking about life, pain, prayer, and second chances. One moment, you're hearing about re-rides and rodeo rules. The next, you're watching grown men admit they cried during a scene about a daughter reaching out to a father who'd forgotten how to listen.
“You want a takeaway?” Avnet says at one point, leaning in like he’s about to tell a secret. “Listen to your daughters.”
Even the film’s backdrop — a journey from Edna to Tulsa, through dusty roads and red rivers — is more than scenery. “What does the Red River mean?” Avnet muses. “It separates states, sure. But in cinema? In drama? It’s a border between past and future. Between running and returning.”
That’s the magic trick this movie seems to pull. It’s a rodeo film, sure. But it’s also a road movie, a family drama, and a faith story. It’s a reminder that sometimes, eight seconds on a bull can feel like eternity — especially when your whole life is hanging on.
Sean Gleason CEO of the PBR was also in attendance, giving nods of approval and speaking in reverent tones about the sport’s unsung poetry.
As the night winds down, Mykelti Williamson shares one last piece of unsolicited wisdom for young rodeo dreamers. “Stay prayed up. Stretch. Be kind. If it’s your calling, it’ll find you.”
Just before the lights dim and the first frame hits the screen, McDonough takes a moment, looking out at the audience like a man who’s already said everything he needed to say on film. But still, he offers this:
“This one’s from the heart.”
And as the movie plays, you believe him.
