About “Black Rabbit” in a few words:

“Black Rabbit” is a crime thriller miniseries (2025) about Jake Friedken, who runs a swanky New York restaurant called Black Rabbit. Things get messy when his estranged brother Vince returns, dragging him back into debts, underworld ties, and past trauma. The show blends family drama, crime, ambition, and betrayal as every character fights to survive in the dark.

Meet the characters from Black Rabbit

Jake Friedken

Jake Friedken is the kind of protagonist who walks into a room and rearranges the air, whether he means to or not. He’s stubborn, restless, a little reckless — mechanic hands, poet heart, annoyingly competent at fixing engines and feelings in equal measure. He claims he hates coffee but drinks it like it’s a personality trait, and also collects old postcards he never sends (which is adorable and suspicious). There’s a loyalty that looks like stubbornness and a temper that hides a slow, messy tenderness, and honestly you just want to both cheer for him and throttle him sometimes. Sometimes he’s annoyingly sure of himself, sometimes he’s completely lost; both versions are equally him and somehow that’s believable.

Vince Friedken

Vince Friedken is Jake’s quieter shadow — not exactly timid, more like a lake that’s been pretending to be calm for decades. He keeps secrets in his pocket the way other people keep lint, and he smiles like he knows a joke he’s only just remembered, which drives everyone crazy. He’s a gambler in small ways (bets on horses, bets on people’s moods), and also a spectacularly bad cook except when he isn’t — which is to say, sometimes he makes pancakes that could win awards, somehow. Vince is loyal to a fault but also sabotages himself with sarcasm and late-night decisions, and sometimes you can see he wants to be braver but doesn’t know how to start. He hums awful old radio jingles when nervous and has a scar no one asked about but everyone notices; it makes him real in a weird, complicated way.

Estelle

Estelle is that sharp, slightly terrifying aunt energy — encyclopedic, warm in the way a worn blanket is warm, and discontinuously generous. She knows the town’s history, the bar’s secrets, and exactly how to cut someone off politely but permanently, and she will do it with a cup of tea and a smile. Estelle collects teacups and grudges with equal passion, and she can knit and curse in the same breath which is honestly impressive. She’s maternal in an offbeat, no-nonsense way but also ruthlessly pragmatic — don’t mistake her kindness for weakness, she’ll hand you soup and then smack some sense into you if needed. Little contradictions everywhere: she cries during stupid commercials but can plan a heist like a chessmaster, and you adore her for all of it.

Roxie

Roxie is chaos wrapped in sequins and a cigarette — showy, vulnerable, with a laugh that makes you reckless. She’s the nightclub voice, the woman who says something sharp then apologizes with a look that means the opposite, and she flirts with danger like it’s a hobby. She’s often late, she loses gloves and hearts with equal frequency, and she paints tiny suns on the backs of matchbooks for reasons she refuses to explain. There’s a hardness under the glitter — real hurt and a loyalty that surprises the people who assume she’s shallow. Also, she learns recipes from strangers and then forgets them, which is maddening and charming and makes her feel alive.

Tony

Tony is the loveable screw-up with a conscience, the sort of friend who shows up with a grin and bad advice but somehow always at the right time. He laughs too loud, is oddly good with birds (don’t ask), and has a heroic streak that kicks in at inconvenient moments — like the final act of a movie you didn’t expect to cry at. He’s a compulsive apologizer who hoards pens and old concert tickets, and can be brave and cowardly within a single afternoon, which drives his friends insane. Tony tries to be cool but mostly fails, which is why everyone loves him; he’s earnest, messy, and accidentally brave. Also somehow he knows terrible karaoke songs by heart and will perform them with unmatched sincerity, so be warned.

Babbitt

Babbitt is the bureaucrat of small towns and big emotions — officious, fussy, and secretly fond of chaos as long as it’s scheduled. He hoards keys (like, physical keys — thousands of them) and rules, but he’s also the kind of guy who will bake a pie for a late-night knock on his door. He’s petty in ways that are darkly funny, but when the chips are down he becomes this stubborn, almost unexpected protector. There are weird little phobias (balloons, apparently) and a fondness for crossword puzzles that makes him surprisingly sweet in a prickly shell. Honestly, he’s the kind of character you complain about and then find yourself missing within a day.

Gen.

Gen. — yes, with the dot, it’s part of the charm — is the ambiguous legend of the neighborhood: stoic, impossibly patient, and deeply private. They, or he, or she — whichever you prefer because Gen. kinda resists labels — keeps a backyard full of sculptures that look like they were assembled from found memories. Gen. speaks seldom but memorably, will offer you a cup of tea then ask an impossible question that rearranges your day, and wears inexplicably bright socks under sensible shoes. There’s a military precision to some of their habits (or maybe it’s just a love of order), and then a sudden, ridiculous impulse to dance in the rain which is the best contradiction ever. Basically Gen. is enigmatic, quietly radical, and the person you tell secrets to when you want them handled like fragile glass.