The Allure of Tragically flawed characters
in better call saul

“Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.”
A punitive maxim that poetically reflects the defining moments of depravity for two quarreling brothers.

Better Call Saul is a story predicated on moral ambiguity, the increasingly opaque lines that result from decisions made at the expense of others. No character in Better Call Saul is without flaw. Their foibles, in addition to sparking a continued torrent of emotional resonance, ultimately shape the tragic outcomes that have cemented the show’s legacy as one of the most impactful stories in modern television. This story leverages realism and slow-burn pacing to leave its viewers in a hollow state by the end of its run, a state rendered by unavoidable investment in gripping characters. Above all else, the writing of Peter Gould and Vince Gilligan’s karmic universe prioritizes the psyches and relationships of its characters.

Jimmy McGill, known later as Saul Goodman, is a broken man. His natural tendency to cut corners extends to the way in which he approaches trauma: through compartmentalization, an irresistible impulse to deflect the weight of guilt by denying responsibility and instead escaping to a calculated persona. Jimmy adorns the “Saul Goodman” mask to filter out the blood and ash that begin to surround him. And once he reaches a total breaking point, he survives the passing of each day only by keeping that mask on every waking minute. For all of the charm and bravado that characterize the “Saul Goodman” persona, the reason for its inception paints a tragedy too thick for any veneer.

The harrowing road that Jimmy traverses to become Saul is one guided by those closest to him — so close, in fact, that they inevitably collide with the boundless trajectory. Chuck McGill, Jimmy’s older brother and long-time idol, is a rigid man with a black-and-white lens. As he finds himself at escalating odds with Jimmy, someone incapable of change in his eyes, Chuck’s raging downfall is dictated not by his electromagnetic hypersensitivity, but rather by his crippling inability to perceive Jimmy as anything more than a crook who defecates through sunroofs. The deep chasm between the McGill brothers pierces through the fabric of the entire narrative, as pervasively as it does through Jimmy’s mental state.

As Jimmy clashes with Chuck, he finds love in another principled force, Kim Wexler. Kim is the embodiment of dedication, committed to her clients, relationship, and eventual schemes. Throughout the series, she wrestles with a growing addiction to the thrill of Jimmy’s antics. And despite the various life rafts in front of her, Kim stays for the iceberg. As her stubborn soul embraces the high of the scam, it becomes clear that Jimmy’s tendency to compartmentalize is met in kind with Kim’s tendency to rationalize. Over time, a former commitment to Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill evolves into a fixation that destroys that same firm. Her resolve pointed toward an undeserving target, Kim loses control. The consequences of that recklessness fall on Howard Hamlin, a man of privilege and, ultimately, a victim of circumstance. While Jimmy continues to compartmentalize, Kim decisively refuses to rationalize — resigning herself to self-imposed penance in the form of a powerless, mundane life.

On the other side of the law, Mike Ehrmantraut loses himself to violence and hypocrisy. His loyalty to his family belies his unshakable tether to the past. While unable to escape the guilt of his son’s death, Mike clings to his fragile identity with a fierce moral code. However, the lines blur as Mike’s involvement with the cartel intensifies. His desire to provide morphs into a craving for justice and, finally, a hunger for revenge. By the time that he takes his place as enforcer for Gus Fring, a fastidious drug lord whose own obsession with vengeance paves a bloody trail to mutual destruction, Mike’s words mean nothing. He is neither an honorable thief nor a justified killer. He is a criminal just like the rest, one who succumbs to the very half-measures and injustices that he preaches against.

It is not simply the nuance of these characters’ flaws that makes them compelling, but the ways in which these flaws tie into the aggregate — the layered personalities and shifting relationships of each character, as well as their actions and consequences. In several instances, defining strengths becomes weaknesses amidst the painful flow of causality. The virtually linear arc of Nacho Varga encapsulates this notion: Nacho’s sense of initiative and lust for freedom allow him to rise in the criminal world, but subsequently thrust him into conflict with the entire Salamanca family as his quick thinking sparks only short-term solutions. While removing each individual obstacle, Nacho unwittingly sinks deeper into the clutches of the cartel until the only freedom that he can seize is a death on his own terms, saving his father at the expense of himself.

The characters of Better Call Saul are complex and dynamic, thoughtfully constructed by bold writing and immaculate acting. But above all else, these characters are human. They live and breathe, think and feel. They make mistakes, suffer, and grieve. Their flaws elevate the narrative, which is driven by the ramifications of those flaws. We, as the audience, witness trials and tribulations that are painstakingly relatable. Immersed and invested, it is difficult to look away from the hardships of Jimmy and Kim — not because we carry a morbid interest in their failures, but because they remind us of the vulnerability that is often absent in the real world. We see love, loss, change, and finality. Like the characters of Better Call Saul, we might not find a happy ending…but we can still move forward with a greater sense of what makes us who we are. What makes us human.

And then there’s Lalo.