This show is wild. Phil Miller thinks he is last human after a virus takes out most people. He roams across U.S., looking for survivors. Along the way, he meets others and builds a new community. Quirky humor, strange situations and a talented cast make it fun. You got Will Forte, Kristen Schaal and January Jones bringing it all to life. Don’t miss out on this adventure!

Meet the characters from The Last Man on Earth

Phil Tandy Miller

Phil Tandy Miller is a walking neon sign of chaotic optimism — loud, vain, strangely sincere, and always ready to declare himself “mayor” of whatever tiny patch of sanity remains. He does ridiculous, performative leadership (there will be speeches, there will be costumes) but also has this weirdly soft panic under it all, like a kid who learned how to pretend grown-up overnight. He says dumb jokes and petty rules but then almost always tries to do the right thing, even if he fumbles it spectacularly. He loves puns, tiny trophies, and naming things (he’s definitely named a chair or three), and somehow you believe him even when you shouldn’t. Also, he claims to be fearless but will absolutely hide in a car trunk if there’s a raccoon — probably.

Melissa Chartres

Melissa Chartres is the “serious” one at first glance — practical, no-nonsense, tries to keep people fed and grounded — but there’s so much simmering emotion under that sensible exterior. She runs on rules and routine and will absolutely roll her eyes at Phil’s antics, yet she also has these sudden, surprising flashes of softness (and maybe a secret love of terrible soap operas? I could be making that up). She’s loyal in a quiet way, the type who fixes a leaky roof at dawn and then reads you a scathing, perfectly calm lecture about life choices. Tough survivor but not a robot — she cries, she rants, she forgives awkwardly. Oh, and she memorizes facts for fun sometimes, which is either adorable or slightly terrifying.

Erica Dundee

Erica Dundee is the wild card: tough, impulsive, kind of fierce and messily vulnerable, like someone who learned to punch her way through grief and then took up pottery because why not. She’s sarcastic and practical and will steal your granola bar while lecturing you on human decency, and then maybe sing a sad song at midnight — mood swings? totally. Underneath the tough talk is this weirdly poetic sensitivity (yes, she notices sunsets and things) that catches you off guard. She’s not always pretty about emotion — expect blunt honesty, occasional petulance, and also loyalty that shows up in weird acts like defending you to a mannequin. Honestly, she might have a tattoo that she keeps forgetting what it means (or maybe she remembered yesterday, who knows).

Carol Pilbasian

Carol Pilbasian is delightfully off-kilter: obsessed with routines, marriage rules, and completely sincere about the most absurd domestic philosophies you’ve ever heard. She lives by lists, rituals, and (I swear) miniature rolodexes of emotions, but also has these joyous, disarming bursts of affection that make her weirdness feel wholly lovable. She’s oddly militant about manners and survival but melts into goo over small acts of tenderness, which is confusing and perfect. Don’t expect her to wear shoes the same way twice, and also she will bake you a pie and rehearse vows in the middle of a tornado. She gives orders like a general and hugs like a plush toy — very confusingly human.

Todd Rodriguez

Todd Rodriguez is the smooth, slippery charm-rogue who somehow keeps getting away with too much — charismatic, lazy, a little selfish, but also shockingly good at survival-adjacent skills when it matters. He’ll flirt, lie, steal your socks, and then show up with a perfectly grilled sandwich and a halfway sincere apology; it’s almost a performance art. He acts like nothing phases him but you can see the insecurity when the music stops — under that grin is someone who’s trying to guess the rules of being human again. He’s full of contradictory moments: surprisingly tender at 3 a.m., obnoxiously careless at brunch, and somehow friends with everyone he shouldn’t be friends with. Also, he collects harmonicas for reasons that made sense yesterday.

Gail Klosterman

Gail Klosterman has this calm, dignified vibe like she should be knitting in a sunroom, but don’t be fooled — she’s quietly fierce, emotionally sharp, and has opinions about everyone’s life choices. She’s maternal in a very particular, sometimes passive-aggressive way (she’ll bring you soup and then critique your haircut), and there’s a streak of old-school practicality that grounds the group. Beneath the composed exterior there are surprising amusements — she likes crossword puzzles at 2 a.m. and will absolutely sabotage you with civility if you cross her. She holds grudges like heirlooms and can be unexpectedly tender, which makes her both intimidating and very comforting. Also, she might have a secret fondness for bad pop music that she denies like fifty times.