Prelude — We are living through an era in which the finest television series no longer stand in the shadow of cinema, not only in terms of production quality and aesthetic sophistication, but also in narrative scope, characterization, and structural coherence. Among them, Better Call Saul occupies a truly unique position.
The series initially serves as a meaningful, entertaining, carefully conceived, and brilliant complement to Breaking Bad, and is, more specifically, situated within the pre-existing narrative universe created by the genius Vince Gilligan in that series. Yet it is also a sequel with such a self-contained structure that even without having seen Breaking Bad, it stands on its own as one of the finest and most complete dramatic works of the contemporary era. One point worth noting, however, is that this mode of storytelling—based on patience, microscopic attention to detail, and the gradual construction of character motivations—works extraordinarily well in the serialized form and over an extended period of time, but can become counterproductive when compressed into cinema. Because of its limited running time, cinema is inevitably forced toward condensation, whereas this particular narrative derives its strength and dignity precisely from its intervals, pauses, and patient observation of the characters’ transformation. The rather inferior film Gilligan made about the later life of Jesse Pinkman following the events of Breaking Bad (El Camino, 2019) can serve as evidence for this argument.
Scattered Ideas Beneath a Unified Umbrella: Structure and Characterization
The narrative of Better Call Saul is a constellation of scattered thoughts, subplots, and complex ideas that ultimately come together beneath a single, coherent umbrella. Since no screenplay idea in this universe is accidental or simply left hanging, it seems worthwhile to consider a few of its characters and their particular intricacies (apart from Jimmy/Saul, who is a world unto himself):
- Chuck’s rare illness and his singular sensitivities: Chuck McGill’s condition—his sensitivity to electromagnetic fields—is not merely a physical device or a simple ailment; it can also be seen as a manifestation of his physical confinement and psychological rupture. These peculiar, self-imposed sensitivities also function as means of exerting control, isolating himself from the modern world, and concealing his deep-rooted jealousy of Jimmy’s natural charm and popularity. Chuck’s illness becomes the material embodiment of the moral contradictions of a man who worships the law yet is incapable of forgiveness or brotherly affection. Ultimately, when, like Javert in Victor Hugo’s masterpiece Les Misérables, he is unable to find a way out of his new predicament—unemployment, professional irrelevance, and, of course, his entanglements with Jimmy—he takes his own life: either the law or death.
- Howard’s failed ambition: The character of Howard Hamlin evokes both the tragedy of living in the shadow of great names and the fate of someone consumed by ambition and the preservation of appearances. Howard devotes all his strength to preserving the legacy of the legal system, as well as professional dignity and prestige, despite having played no role in laying its original foundations. Ultimately, however, he is destroyed amid Jimmy and Kim’s resentments, manipulations, and psychological games.
- The taciturn sage: Mike Ehrmantraut embodies silent knowledge and experience in this universe. He always sees what lies beneath and behind every situation and, unlike the others, is not carried away by illusion or momentary emotion. He understands power relations, the consequences of crime, and the origins of wrongdoing with remarkable precision, while his pragmatism is infused with the bitterness of knowing that the collapse of morality is ultimately unavoidable. At one point, amid the conflicts surrounding the newly emerging drug cartel, we hear a simple yet meaningful exchange between him and his superior, Gustavo Fring (Giancarlo Esposito): “You understand.” / “What?” / “Revenge.” His determination to protect his family and preserve the memory of his dead son, the blood on his own hands, and his more or less obscure past combine to make him a compelling dramatic figure.
- Kim and the ending: moving beyond television’s familiar affliction: It has often happened that the ending of a great television series completely erases the fond memories of its earlier seasons: Lost, House of Cards, and Game of Thrones each collapsed in their final stages under the weight of their own expectations and unresolved narrative threads, sacrificing much of the quality they had established at the outset. Here, however, the final episode not only fails to diminish the series’ appeal but also lends new meaning to everything that came before it. Kim’s major and surprising decision to return to Albuquerque, and the testimony that ultimately changes both her life and Jimmy’s, brings her once again from the margins of Jimmy’s drama and life to its very center.
Form, Economy, and the Vocabulary of Law
One of the series’ most remarkable features is the writers’ reliance on the intelligence of their characters—an intelligence that, inevitably, must also be present in the audience. The creators never assume that the viewer is stupid. They show us the tools, motivations, and plans without feeling the need to explain them through dialogue. The audience must remain constantly engaged in order to understand the connections between scenes, follow the clues, and uncover the logic of events.
At the same time, although a substantial portion of the series takes place in courtrooms and legal institutions, its legal vocabulary never becomes an impediment. Complex legal concepts, clauses, provisions, and specialized terminology do not prevent the audience from connecting with the story; on the contrary, they function as dramatic tools for revealing the characters’ wickedness, intelligence, and strategic games. The law here becomes the arena in which the characters wage their moral battles.
This coherence is further completed through its numerous, fully realized supporting characters. In Better Call Saul, no supporting character exists merely for decoration. From Lalo Salamanca to Nacho Varga, from Clara to the secretaries and ordinary employees, each has a distinct identity, behavioral logic, and independent existence.
The Spell of the Seasons and Memorable Moments
Now, several years after the series ended, we still have not quite escaped the spell of certain seasons, scenes, and lines of dialogue—moments etched into the viewer’s visual and dramatic memory:
- Kim’s answer about leaving her hometown: When asked why she left the small town where she grew up, Kim Wexler responds with remarkable simplicity and surprising depth: she wanted more. That “more” may well be the drive that pushes her toward Jimmy—the desire to cross the boundaries that have been set for her and, beyond that, to reach a more radical form of excitement, one that ultimately leads to a bloody end.
- Chuck’s explanation to Jimmy: At a moment when we least expect it, Chuck tells Jimmy that if everything had been reversed and Jimmy had been in his position, he would have done the same things for him. The statement is saturated with anger, but it is also shaped by a painful truth: Chuck’s inability to accept Jimmy as an attorney who could be his “equal.” Set this against Chuck’s brief return in the final episode and his crucial piece of advice: “Look, Jimmy! If you don’t like the path you’re on, there’s no shame in turning back and changing the road you’ve taken!” It is almost as if Chuck continues to guide his younger brother even in his absence, as though searching for some form of healing for Jimmy’s festering wound: his subordinate and diminished position in Chuck’s unforgiving judgment.
- Chuck’s breakdown in court: This is the moment when all the masks of his legal dignity fall away, and the reason for his disgust at the very idea of “Jimmy the lawyer” is laid bare. The outburst is rooted in blind resentment and, in a brief yet powerful dramatic crescendo, depicts the collapse of a calculating mind.
- Nacho’s phone-call farewell to his father: The agonizing phone conversation between Nacho Varga and his father before his death is devoid of the melodramatic emotionalism so common in such scenes. Instead, it is filled with grief, acceptance of fate, and a bitter farewell to the only moral refuge he has left in this corrupted world.
- Mike turning away from Nacho’s suicide: Mike’s regretful gaze at Nacho’s final decision is especially poignant because he believed that the young man had a fundamentally decent nature and that it was a shame for him to become entangled with this crowd. His suicide was his final voluntary act, an attempt to preserve his dignity and save his father’s life. Mike’s gaze becomes the silent mourning of a man who had seen the end of this road coming all along.
- Kim’s farewell to Jimmy: The extended, meticulously detailed sequence of Kim leaving Jimmy and packing her belongings is a scene in which the immense weight of their shared guilt and the devastation caused by their games hangs heavily in the air.
- Jimmy and Kim’s sustained, silent looks in the final courtroom: In the end, Jimmy abandons his borrowed identities—Saul Goodman and Gene Takavic—and, seemingly for Kim’s sake, accepts responsibility for what he has done for the first time. His decision to change his plea in the final courtroom, when he no longer needs a lawyer and could have secured the minimum sentence, becomes the central semantic turning point of the entire work. This reversal can be understood as the inverse of Walter White’s unwavering determination to embrace brutality and depravity. In Breaking Bad, Walter White moved step by step toward moral ruin, and the closer he came to the end, the more fiercely he insisted on his cruelty, selfishness, and disregard for his past. Although Walter regarded “family” as his red line, he ultimately pushed that very family to the brink of total collapse, sacrificing everything to his enormous ego. This radical inversion transforms Better Call Saul into a requiem for redemption, moral responsibility, and the triumph of human identity over systematic evil.
- Jimmy’s fellow inmates singing along to the Better Call Saul theme: The participation of several anonymous men singing along with Jimmy in the prison transport van is both ironic and somehow suggestive of his liberation from his former false identity.
Let us bid farewell to this series, which at times resembles a distillation of the American worldview, through the wise and perceptive character of Mike. In one of his rare moments of indiscretion, he finally gives voice to what has been on his mind and warns a greedy, inexperienced young man: there are good criminals and bad cops; bad priests and honorable thieves. You can be on the side of the law or not, but if you enter into a deal with someone, you have to be loyal. You can pocket the money and go home. You wanted to make a profit, and you sold something that wasn’t yours. So you’re a criminal. Good or bad? That’s up to you.
Look closely, and it seems as though he is explaining the dark and perilous road taken by the ambitious and duplicitous Jimmy McGill himself on his way toward redemption.
© 2026. Phoenix Review