Better Call Saul is like a prequel to Breaking Bad, but without all the explosions- mostly. It tracks Jimmy McGill’s journey from a struggling lawyer to Saul Goodman, the lawyer you call when you need a little… flexibility with the law. Alongside Jimmy, you meet Kim, Mike and Gus, who each bring their own flair to this wild ride through Albuquerque’s crime scene. It is a thrilling tale that makes you question your life choices while laughing at all the chaos.

Meet the characters from Better Call Saul

Hector Salamanca

Oh man, Hector is this terrifying little volcano — elderly, silent (well, mostly — that bell is his whole personality now), and somehow both pitiable and absolutely lethal. He’s all family honor and fiery spite, clinging to old codes and looks like he’d keel over at any minute but then BOOM makes you terrified with a single ring. Weirdly devout sometimes, probably says prayers and curses in the same breath, and yes he hates being underestimated (obviously). He’s the kind of guy who’d nod off at mass and then plot revenge before coffee.

Chuck McGill

Chuck is the tragic brainiac with a fragile, obsessive heart — brilliant, arrogant, allergic to electricity (or so he says), and absolutely convinced of his own moral high ground. He’s meticulous, judges everyone, especially Jimmy, and it’s heartbreaking because you can see his loneliness poking through the grumpiness. Also he keeps the house spotless and kind of smothers people with rules, but then has these moments where you catch him being almost childishly stubborn. He flashes a real fury under that Victorian-get-up-of-integrity thing, honestly complicated guy.

Gus Fring

Gus is the coldest kind of calm — restaurant-smile, polite, philanthropic front that’s unnervingly precise, like everything in his life runs on a metronome. He treats people with terrible courtesy and then dismantles them with clinical efficiency; also, yes, he runs a fried chicken empire and somehow uses that same OCD-level care in his other “hobbies.” He collects routines, schedules, probably alphabetizes his emotions if that were a thing, and occasionally you swear you see a ghost of softness when he looks at flowers (or is that me projecting?). He’s the gentleman you trust to babysit your kids and then regret meeting.

Nacho Varga

Nacho is that poor-smart, trapped guy who’s always two steps from disaster but not without a code — slick, quiet, terrified and brave in equal parts. Loves his dad in weird stubborn ways, fiddles with stuff in pockets when nervous (coins? a lighter? yeah something like that), and he makes choices that hurt him more than they hurt anyone else. He’s clever in an everyday, scrappy way and somehow keeps accidentally being the moral center while doing very illegal things. Also he’s low-key poetic sometimes, like “I’ll take the hit” and then you’re like, oh no, Nacho why.

Howard Hamlin

Howard is all sleek suits and pearly smiles, the polished public face of fancy law, but don’t be fooled — he’s juggling insecurity and performative charm like it’s a second job. He’s annoyingly put-together, has perfect hair, probably drinks expensive coffee and says the right words, yet there are tiny flashes where you feel actual empathy (oddly enough). Sometimes he’s petty, sometimes he’s genuinely trying to be decent and you can’t tell which is worse, and his laugh is a little too loud when he’s nervous. He’s like a well-polished ornament that might hide a crack — or maybe that’s just dust, who knows.

Tuco Salamanca

Tuco is pure kinetic chaos — wild eyes, louder-than-life, and terrifyingly charismatic in a way that makes you want to flee and cheer at the same time. He’s loud music, sudden violence, the kind of guy who’d hug you and break your face five minutes later, and honestly you can’t take your eyes off him. He adores dramatics and has zero filter but weirdly follows a personal code of sorts, like a feral uncle who remembers birthdays. He eats too fast, laughs too hard, and hates being bored — very vivid, very dangerous, and probably smells like gasoline.

Mike Ehrmantraut

Mike is the calmest storm — grizzled, methodical, ex-cop who fixes things and people with the same blunt tools: quiet, practical advice and a gun if necessary. He’s a walking list of rules, and yet he’s got this soft, exhausted grandfather vibe (but don’t call him that to his face). He enjoys small rituals — neat coffee, a meticulous dinner — and will stare at you long enough to make you confess your sins or your plans, whichever comes first. Deadly, patient, unexpectedly sentimental about what matters; he’s the steady anchoring force in a bunch of bad choices.

Kim Wexler

Kim is that brilliant, gray-suit tornado — sharp as hell, scrappy, the kind of closer who makes miracles look like work and then pretends it’s easy. She’s principled-ish, fiercely independent, and also wickedly inventive when rules are just suggestions (creative lawyering is her love language). She hums under her breath when thinking (or is that me imagining?), loves little routines, and occasionally does things that make you go “wait, did she just?” — yes, she did. Heart and hustle collision, very complicated moral compass and somehow devastatingly loyal.

Jimmy McGill

Jimmy is a walking contradiction — charming con man, big-hearted mess, the guy who’d hug you one minute and sell you a phony billboard the next, but always with a grin that makes you forgive him. He’s all improvisation, fast talk, and impossible optimism wrapped in a suit that’s seen better days; also he cries at commercials and has a weird soft spot for flashy business cards. Loves a good hustle but wants to be respected as a legit lawyer sometimes, which makes him tragic and hilarious. He’ll break the rules, fall in love with schemes, and somehow make you root for him even when you know it’s a bad idea.

Lalo Salamanca

Lalo is the most unnervingly charming menace — suave, theatrical, and smiling like he’s enjoying a private joke no one else gets, while also casually terrifying you. He’s playful, loves a good story (and a dangerous game), and has this incredible ability to be friendly right before things go very wrong. He cooks up schemes with a grin, can be absurdly warm one moment and lethal the next, and you absolutely can’t predict where he’s going. A paradox wrapped in a bolo tie — somehow social butterfly and cold-blooded predator at once.