Ozark (Season 1)

Creators: Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams
Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz, Skylar Gaertner, Julia Garner, Jordana Spiro, Jason Butler Harner, Esai Morales, Peter Mullan, Lisa Emery, Josh Randall, Harris Yulin, Marc Menchaca, Michael Mosley
Original Airdate: 2017

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

"Breaking Bad with Jason Bateman." That's the one-line description you've probably read in every article and review detailing the first season of Netflix's crime drama, Ozark. And I get it, at least on the surface. A seemingly normal middle-aged man gets sucked into the drug dealing business so he can provide for his family. While all the similarities pretty much begin and end there, if you were to describe and convey the concept behind the series as concisely as possible, it's tough to argue those five words don't do that. It does provide a snapshot that makes it easier to determine whether you're the type of viewer likely to give it a watch. But it's still different enough in both tone and execution that you can easily imagine someone who's neither a fan of Breaking Bad or Bateman still enjoying it. Even if "enjoy" probably isn't the best descriptor given its darkly grim, existential tone.

Netflix's Ozark

Ozark packs a lot of story and characters into a single season and is far messier faster-paced than Breaking Bad, but it all comes together, sprinting to the finish line with a thrilling, if somewhat shocking, conclusion that nicely tops off the season while leaving plenty of runway to keep going. Mostly about a flawed man thrust into extraordinary criminal circumstances from which there's seemingly no escape for him or his family, it's not only the best dramatic showcase yet for actor/producer Bateman (who also directed four episodes), but for a setting that's as much a character as anyone in the narrative. If we are still truly in the era of the "anti-hero," then this is a more than serviceable addition, proving that familiar trope is far from wearing out its welcome.

Bateman plays Chicago-based financial advisor Marty Byrde, who's fallen into a dangerous money laundering scheme with his old college roommate and partner at the firm, fast-talking deal-closer Bruce Liddell (Josh Randall).  When their client, Del (a scary Esai Morales), an enforcer for a top Mexican drug cartel, suspects them of skimming cash and kills Bruce, Marty's forced to relocate to the Missouri Ozarks with his cheating wife Wendy (Laura Linney), 15-year-old daughter Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz), and 13-year-old son Jonah (Skylar Gaertner).

Under the guise of providing financial support to struggling local businesses, Marty must pay off the debt to Del and continue laundering the cartel's cash if he and his family are to survive. But he also must contend with Ruth Langmore (Julia Garner) a local 19-year-old burgeoning criminal looking to secure some of Marty's laundered dough for her trailer park family. As well as Jacob and Darlene Snell (Peter Mullan and Lisa Emery), husband and wife crime lords agitated by him infringing on their territory. Watching it all is undercover FBI agent Roy Petty (Jason Butler Harner), who's infiltrated the Langmore clan determined to find out what brought Marty Byrde and family to the Ozarks from Chicago after his partner turned up dead. And he suspects the worst.

Jason Bateman as Marty Byrde

The series benefits from having a protagonist we're not exactly sure how to read at first. Upon initially meeting Marty, he appears to be an intelligent, capable financial advisor and family man. And strangely, that perception of him doesn't really waver throughout despite some unimaginably poor and downright dangerous choices that land him in his eventual predicament. It speaks volumes about this guy that within the pilot episode's ("Sugarwood") opening minutes, he appears to be watching porn while meeting with a client, until Bruce slides in and effortlessly closes the deal.

As a "numbers guy" we're led to believe Marty's a poor salesman, and maybe he is, but he'll pull off the ultimate sell job later when his back's against the wall and his life's threatened. And boy does he deliver in that moment. We'll also find out pretty early that the adult entertainment he's pulls up on his laptop isn't for his own satisfaction, but rather footage of his wife Wendy's affair provided to him by a private investigator.

All this merely sets the table, providing the context for a man isn't quite comparable to Walter White. He's doesn't need the respect and adulation of his peers or deem himself a failure, mostly because he isn't. Nor does he get into business with the cartel for the adrenaline thrill. There's no forthcoming "I did it for me" speech in the show's final season, whenever that may come.

Del (Esai Morales) takes aim

Marty made a deal with the devil. Plain and simple. He got into to business with Del because he wanted to make more money to better provide for his family, and in doing so stupidly put them all at risk. And the big difference here is that you believe everything Marty says because he's played by Bateman. We want to take him at face value that he knew nothing of the cash the firm was skimming off Del. That he couldn't be that dumb or careless. And yet Bateman gives him a used car salesman sliminess that hints it's very possible.

These two Martys are on full display early when Del's wrath comes down, disposing of Bruce and leaving the trembling accountant to beg for his life. And in the best acted scene of Bateman's entire career, he spins this surprisingly sound business proposal based entirely off an Ozarks travel brochure that falls out of his pocket.

A more deliberate thinker rather than a fast one, Marty's pitch to Del to spare his life with a gun pointed at his head is a great one borne on the spot from sheer desperation. The entire range of emotions that a defeated, exasperated Bateman takes Marty and the viewer through as he plays his only hand left is nothing short of gripping. We believe such a speech would dig him out, which is just about the highest compliment that can be given to the performance and screenwriters Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams. And that's only the beginning.

The Byrdes discuss their options

Marty's ability to compartmentalize everything in his life comes in handy when he needs to pack up his Chicago-based family and relocate to the Ozarks at literally a moment's notice to make good on his debt to Del. He takes a logical, almost workmanlike approach to uprooting his entire life and existence, as his wife Wendy becoming more financial partner than spouse. It's an arrangement both seem strangely comfortable with, each vaguely masking their mutual contempt for the sake of protecting their family. But they even clash over this, butting heads over how much the kids should be allowed to know about what's happening.

Given her most complex role in years, Linney tackles Wendy with a stubbornness and rigid determination that only increases the deeper she's sinks into Marty's crisis, flipping houses as a realtor and taking advantage of the locals to further facilitate his money laundering. If there are any true victims here, it's the kids, with neither asking for or deserving any of this, as both Charlotte and Jonah's lives are interrupted at particularly crucial stages.

For the angst-ridden Charlotte, whose entire teen life revolves around her friends and phone, the Ozark move represents a social death of sorts, trapping her in a "redneck" environment that couldn't seem further from her relatively privileged existence in Chicago. Since Jonah's younger and still struggling to find an identity, this move causes some of his more eccentric and disturbing tendencies (such as his fascination with dead animals) to surface in uncomfortable ways. also begins to forge a friendship with terminally ill, cranky curmudgeon Buddy Dyker (Harris Yulin), the house's previous owner and current tenant

Greetings from the Missouri Ozarks

Lesser writing would have depicted Charlotte and Jonah as merely spoiled brats, and while Hublitz and Gaertner's introspective, realistic performances go a long way in preventing that, it's also hard not to recognize the toll their parents' choices  have taken on them. Unfortunately, any time either rebels, no matter how justified, it only draws unwanted attention, placing the whole family squarely in Del's cross hairs.

If you're really running with the Breaking Bad comparisons, then Julia Garner's 19-year-old Ruth Langmore would be the Jesse Pinkman to Marty's Walter White. What starts off as the most adversarial of relationships with Ruth stealing Marty's (or rather Del's) money evolves into an unlikely, tenuous business partnership as he provides her opportunities she never knew existed, regardless of his motivations or even hers. Having to fight and claw her way through a rotten life because of incarcerated father Cade (Trevor Long), she's essentially had to babysit two know-nothing uncles, Russ (Marc Menchaca) and Boyd (Christopher James Baker). All while acting as responsible big sister to younger cousins, Wyatt (Charlie Tahan) and Three (Carson Holmes). The prospect of all this cash represents her only break.

Initially a union built on blackmail and manipulation, it soon becomes clear to both Ruth and Marty they can use one other to reach their desired goals. For the former, it's an influx of funds to rescue her from a dead-end life, while latter senses in his new "employee" a gritty shrewdness that can help him more effectively filter this cash. What's in the way is Ruth's entire family, who simply don't have the intelligence or restraint to be included in any of this.

Marty faces off with Ruth (Julia Garner)

Ruth's turning point comes when she must make the soul-crushing choice between blood relatives and a father figure she never knew she needed in Marty. All this with the sociopathic hand of her real father still strategically trying to control her every move from behind bars. The character's internal complications call on Garner to do a lot in the role and it's impressive just how believably she's able to subtly, and sometimes even not so subtly, convey that struggle depending upon the story's frequently surprising developments.   

Moving at a breakneck pace, the series' biggest joys come in watching Bateman's Marty plot, squirm and scheme on the fly as his options get smaller. And as dark as that sometimes seems, there's also a lot of humor in seeing him attempt to ingratiate himself into this community full of colorful supporting characters, many of whom he's manipulating to launder Del's cash.

In buying a strip club out from under local thug Bobby Dean (Adam Boyer) and financially supporting Rachel Garrison's (Jordana Spiro) Blue Cat Lodge hotel and restaurant, Marty unintentionally rattles the cage of the diabolical Snell family, who have the Ozark market cornered on money laundering, successfully running a heroin distribution ring through an idealistic local riverboat pastor, Mason Young (Michael Mosley). True to form, Marty somehow finds a way to step right in the middle of it.

Jacob Snell (Peter Mullan) stares Marty down

Viewers can both cringe and delight uncomfortably in seeing our exasperated protagonist escape violent, potentially fatal scenarios on his wit alone. And often a lot of luck. He's getting it from all sides, as the Mexican drug cartel, the Snells, the Langmores, and the FBI emerge as simultaneous threats brought upon by his own choices. And Bateman's dry, sarcastic straight man persona been better utilized than when he's attempting to bargain with all of them.

If there's an episode where you can at least momentarily take a breather, it has to be the flashback-centric "Kaleidoscope," which travels to 2007 to give us a glimpse into the lives of the Byrdes before the decision to take Del on as a client destroyed everything. It reveals just enough for us to question the level of blame Marty should be assigned, and just how complicit Wendy was in the initial stages of what then seemed like an exciting, if dangerous business opportunity. Besides shining a light on an incident that became the impetus of their future marital problems, it delves deeper into the somewhat frightening psyche of FBI agent Petty, whose backstory contributes greatly to the unprofessional, sometimes downright illegal, methods he uses to go undercover and immerse himself in the case.

There are points during the season where you think the writers are almost daring you to take what happens seriously, since the unfolding events end up being just so damn fun. And while it still contains many darkly humorous moments, it manages to retain real, escalating stakes and a look and feel that's cold as ice, visually entrenching every frame of the show with enough blue to make Christopher Nolan jealous.

The walls close in on Marty

The show's level of creativity is evident even in the much-discussed opening title card, as four symbols or images (designed by Fred Davis) directly corresponding to that episode's events appear in a giant "O," each spelling out the word "Ozark." On paper, this may seem trivial, but it's ultimately clever foreshadowing that leaves you speculating about how each of the four icons will come into play. Rarely is it a disappointment how they eventually do.

Comparisons to that certain AMC drama with a superficially similar plot were always inevitable, but rather than running from those, Ozark's up to the challenge, gaining its own momentum for reasons that couldn't be further removed from the plot or characters of that series. And it mostly works because of the Emmy-worthy Bateman, whose everyman persona is exploited and challenged in ways we've yet to see until now.

Even with the narrative advantages of Netflix's abbreviated season, there's still the question of how sustainable Ozark can be long-term as it continues to burn through its story at such a rapid rate. Everything catches up with Marty by season's end, as he must decide to flight or fight, struggling to protect his family from the dire situation he's unintentionally trapped them in. With a lot of questions that still need answering, this is one of those shows where you're having too much fun enjoying the ride to even entertain overthinking it.