Josh Duhamel in Netflix’s Western Drama

It was around perhaps the third episode of Ransom Canyon that I finally realized what Netflix’s new Western-themed romantic drama reminded me of: Varsity Valley. Which, to be clear, is not some cheesy primetime soap but a parody of one — specifically, the one that plays in the foreground of Saturday Night Live’s “Waffle House” sketch, while absolute mayhem reigns in the background. In other words, it’s a “show” made specifically to be ignored, generic enough to slide right off your brain but familiar enough that you get the basic idea anyway.

Ransom Canyon, though it is a real series, feels much the same. It is featureless and formulaic, happy to borrow just a fraction of your attention while you mostly focus on other things. This is not entirely a net negative, or at least not for everyone; background shows can have their place in an omnivorous TV diet. But it can, the longer and more closely you try to watch it, make for a stultifying experience.

Created by April Blair, the drama opens in the long wake of one tragedy and on the immediate precipice of another. On the night of his birthday, teenager Randall Kirkland (Hubert Smielecki) is killed in a car crash, devastating his father, Staten (Josh Duhamel), who’d also lost the boy’s mother two years prior. One year out from Randall’s accident, Staten’s barely starting to get out from under his grief, with the patient and persistent support of Quinn (Minka Kelly), his late wife’s best friend and the owner of what appears to be the only bar in the sleepy Texan town of Ransom Canyon.

That Staten and Quinn are deeply in love, and maybe always have been, is obvious from the first time we see them spot each other in a crowded room. But they’re unable to be together for … well, for no very good reason, beyond Ransom Canyon’s need to stretch out the will-they-won’t-they over a ten-hour season. Ditto the parallel romantic situation unfolding among the community’s junior set, involving good-girl cheerleader Lauren (Lizzy Green), her rich asshole boyfriend Reid (Andrew Liner) and her wrong-side-of-the-tracks paramour Lucas (Garrett Wareing).

The series throws a lot of other subplots into the mix too, including the halfhearted mystery of what truly happened to Randall (Staten is convinced another driver was present at the scene, to the great irritation of a sheriff played by Philip Winchester); the devious plans by Austin Water & Power to get ranchers like Staten to sell over their land for the construction of a new pipeline; and the arrival in town of a mysterious drifter (Jack Schumacher’s Yancy) who dutifully fills the show’s quota for scenes of a buff shirtless man doing farm chores.

But it’s the love stories that Ransom Canyon is concerned with first and foremost. Everything else, from the tornado that rips through town to the bitter rivalry between Staten and his former brother-in-law Davis (Eoin Macken), is just so much fodder for make-outs or break-ups.

Given that the series is adapted from Jodi Thomas’ Texas-set romance novels, the emphasis on affairs of the heart is to be expected. But the smooth, flat execution makes it feel like the output of a market research meeting about Yellowstone and Virgin River‘s strong viewership numbers, more than a passion project for anyone involved.

It’s wholly unobjectionable, which is not the same thing as saying it’s actively enjoyable. The plot is complicated in that the characters make a habit of abrupt changes of heart and earnest speeches explaining said changes, but simple in that we’re never left in any doubt as to what’s eventually supposed to happen. The rural Texas landscapes aren’t quite beautiful in a way that evokes grandeur or a distinctive point of view, but they’re benignly pretty in the way that a stock photo or a catalog image might be pretty.

The characters fall neatly into shopworn archetypes — strong silent cowboy, too-slick businessman, bad boy with a heart of gold, etc. — and are easy to root for in the sense that none of them are interesting enough to be worth rooting against. The casting is serviceable in this regard. Duhamel is perfectly agreeable in a role that makes capable use of his smoky voice and “less idiosyncratic Timothy Olyphant” looks. Kelly brings a pleasant warmth to Quinn, though the fact that she’s mostly called upon here to cast indulgent looks toward Staten seems an underuse of the depth she showed as Texan golden girl Lyla Garrity on Friday Night Lights.

Neither of them, nor really anyone else in the cast for that matter, manages to elevate these characters to the point of an actual personality. But that seems less a fault of their performances than it does of writing that allows these characters no nuance to play with, and no space to grow. For all the down-home grumbling about legacy and loyalty, the people of Ransom Canyon are a hopelessly fickle bunch, prone to tearfully confessing their feelings in one episode, only to coldly reject each other the next, only to go back to tearfully confessing their feelings again the one after that.

While such endless back-and-forth makes for unsatisfying character development, it does make for plotlines that go down almost too easy — that do not ask you to dial into the subtleties of a person’s emotions or track their evolution or even remember what happened an episode or two earlier.

Depending on how you plan to watch it, this might be a bug or a feature. If you’re hoping to get fully swept up in a story, Ransom Canyon won’t be it; it’s too bland to command your notice for more than a few minutes at a time. But if you’re looking for some background noise to throw on while you drift off on the couch? Well, then, Staten Kirkland just might be your guy.