Only Murders In The Building is a fun murder mystery. Three strangers- Charles, Oliver, Mabel- bond over true crime. They become amateur sleuths when a murder rocks their building. As they dig deeper, secrets spill out and every neighbor looks suspicious. With sharp writing and memorable moments, this show keeps you guessing and chuckling. It’s a must-watch!

Meet the characters from Only Murders in the Building

Charles-Haden Savage

Oh man, Charles is the cracked-but-dapper heart of the building — a washed-up, classically trained actor who still carries himself like he’s onstage even when he’s just figuring out the coffeemaker. He’s pompous in the best way, endlessly dramatic, but then will also surprise you with these tiny, genuine kindnesses (and a suspiciously vast sock collection). He hoards old scripts and will critique your posture as if it’s a performance, which is both infuriating and oddly comforting. Also, he has weirdly specific opinions about sandwiches and apparently knows more about piano than any reasonable person should.

Bunny

Bunny is the kind of gilded menace who smells like expensive lotion and crossword puzzles, a co-op board legend who smiles while moving pieces on a chessboard you didn’t know you were in. She’s brassy, borderline predatory with her charm, and absolutely convinced the world revolves around her brunch schedule — but also occasionally delights you with out-of-nowhere emotional honesty (brief and then gone). She seems shallow but man, there’s a sharp, secretive intelligence under that cocktail-length laugh, and she hoards tiny, useless things like hotel pens. Honestly, she’s deliciously uncomfortable to be around and probably has a shocking scrapbook somewhere.

Oliver Putnam

Oliver is the eternal ham — earnest, theatrical, a little soft, and too kind for his own good, like someone who fell in love with acting and then stayed in love forever. He’s the friend you call when you need a scene partner at 2 a.m.; he cries in rom-coms but also has a ridiculous stash of novelty neckties (sometimes two at once, honestly). He fumbles through adult decisions but will loyally defend you with a monologue that would win awards, and he’s weirdly good with people even when he doubts himself. Also, he may or may not have a traumatic relationship with plants — I think he kills one every season? Not sure.

Sting

Okay, Sting (yes, Sting) is the surreal, suave guest star who somehow owns both a yacht and the gentlest smile on the block — part musician-legend, part whimsical neighborly oracle. He brings this calm, lived-in confidence, like someone who’s seen dramatic plots and then wrote a song about them over tea, and also acts like he’s casually solved three mysteries before breakfast. He’s elegant, slightly distant, and shockingly good at giving advice that lands like a small, polished stone — and also wears scarves in weather that does not warrant scarves, which I love. Honestly, he’s that odd comforting punctuation in an otherwise frantic sentence.

Jan

Jan is the quietly sharp-eyed neighbor who remembers everyone’s birthdays and also has zero patience for nonsense, like a human Rolodex with a side of snark. She’s practical and efficient, does small favors with no fanfare, and sometimes delivers the kindest zingers that cut through the chaos — she’s a fixer, basically, in sensible shoes. There’s a mysterious softness too (I swear she keeps a drawer of ridiculous things like glitter and old ticket stubs), which makes her seem less like a building fixture and more like a secret ally. She’s the person you underestimate until she rearranges your life in the best possible way and you’re like, wow, when did that happen?

Theo Dimas

Theo feels like the quiet, watchful one — thoughtful, a little sardonic, and the kind of person who notices details everyone else misses (and then makes a deadpan joke about them). He’s loyal to his circle, a little mysterious, maybe too guarded, but he’s got these moments of dry humor that are unexpectedly warm. There’s an artistic streak — sketchbooks, midnight guitar, something like that — and also a tendency to brood in coffee shops where he claims he’s “just working.” He’s simultaneously infuriatingly private and weirdly comforting, like a recluse who bakes you cookies on holidays.

Oscar

Oscar is a chaotic little live wire — loud, proud, and delightfully unfiltered, the kind of person who narrates his own life like it’s a sitcom with better lighting. He’s impulsive, loyal, and often the spark that turns a sad evening into an awkward party (in a good way), and he definitely hoards old concert tickets in shoeboxes. Underneath the bravado there’s a surprisingly tender core; he loves hard and loudly, then disappears into nap mode for three hours. Also, rumor (maybe true?) that he once dye-splattered his apartment trying to be arty and never told anyone.

Teddy Dimas

Teddy is the protective big-brother energy — loud, practical, prone to overreactions but with a huge soft spot for the people he cares about, which is basically his entire orbit. He’s working-class vibes, no-nonsense, will physically block a door if he thinks it helps, and then apologize with a sandwich. There’s a surprising sweetness under the bluster — he collects cheesy romance novels that he swears are “research” and is secretly good at folding fitted sheets (I know, random). He’s the kind of guy who says one wise thing and then follows it up with an over-the-top gesture, and I adore that.

Tim Kono

Tim is the quiet, tragic mystery that everyone circles around — polite, enigmatic, and somehow both ordinary and deeply complicated, like a photograph with parts cut out. He kept a lot to himself, which made people curious and also guilty in hindsight, and he had this soft, salt-of-the-earth vibe (skateboard, ramen, maybe a wistful playlist). There’s a sweetness to his small gestures — a borrowed jacket left in the hallway, a half-finished cup of coffee — that suddenly feels like clues when you look back. He’s the kind of presence that lingers in a room after he’s gone, which is both haunting and oddly tender.

Mabel Mora

Mabel is the electric, sharp-tongued heart of the story — snarky, guarded, ferociously loyal, and devastatingly smart about people and crimes and how to survive both. She’s messy in a brilliant way: sketchbook in hand, mismatched socks, and an encyclopedic knowledge of true crime (which she uses like a weapon and a shield), and she’s got this soft core she almost never shows. She can be reckless and vulnerable in the same breath, and she’s constantly surprising you with sudden, fierce protectiveness — and also weird little hobbies, like perfecting microwave brownies at 3 a.m. She’s complicated, messy, funny, and painfully human, which is why you can’t stop watching her.