Ozark is this fancy crime drama on Netflix about financial planner named Marty Byrde. He moves his family to Ozarks to launder money for a drug cartel. Fun, right? They dive headfirst into world of crime and chaos. It’s a wild ride for anyone who loves good thrill. Don’t miss out, unless you enjoy boredom.

Meet the characters from Ozark

Martin Byrde

Martin is the kind of guy who looks calm on the surface but you just know there’s a spreadsheet in his head with everyone’s names and alibis. He’s a money-laundering genius who will calmly explain a wildly illegal plan like he’s reading a grocery list, which is terrifying and impressive at the same time. Family-first but also quietly ruthless — he’ll cross lines nobody expected and then apologize like it’s a scheduling conflict. Oh and he drinks black coffee like a monk but will sometimes steal a milkshake at 2 a.m., I swear I saw it once (or maybe I’m making that up).

Wendy Byrde

Wendy is a metamorphosis — starts off as the anxious spouse and becomes this steel-tipped strategist who can charm a senator and stab you with a smile. She’s politically sharp, emotionally complex, endlessly pragmatic, and also weirdly proud of her spreadsheets (not kidding). Protective of the kids but also ambitious in a way that sometimes makes your stomach hurt; she’ll rewrite the rules and then justify it in a lullaby-ish tone. She has this habit of doodling campaign logos when she’s thinking, which is adorable and terrifying together.

Charlotte Byrde

Charlotte is the teenage eye-roll you can’t ignore — sarcastic, brilliant in a dry way, and carrying around trauma with a side of rebellious hair dye. She’s fiercely loyal to the family but will call them out in public, which is both brave and excruciating to watch. Smart enough to be dangerous if she wanted to, but mostly just sarcastic and surprisingly tender when she’s not pretending not to care. Also collects little rocks or something? Or notes? My memory’s fuzzy but it’s cute.

Jonah Byrde

Jonah is this weirdly morbid, hyper-curious kid who treats math like a toy and danger like a puzzle to be solved. He’s the one building gadgets in the garage and asking awkwardly calm questions at the worst possible times, which is both adorable and creepily adult. Innocent but not naive — he learns fast and will surprise you with a cold, practical comment about consequences. He’s into science videos, bugs, and apparently eats cereal at midnight like it’s a ritual (or was that his sister — either way, cereal).

Ruth Langmore

Ruth is pure fire with an encyclopedic knowledge of how to survive — street-smart, loud, loyal, and prickly as a cactus. She’ll fight for the people she loves and then write a poem about it at 3 a.m. (I’m not kidding, she’s touchingly complicated). She wants out but also has this fierce pride in her roots, and that internal push-and-pull makes her heartbreaking and heroic. Also, she reads romance novels secretly and swears she never cried during one, which is obviously a lie.

Darlene Snell

Darlene is terrifying in the most domestic way — she bakes pies and rules with iron claws, like a garden-variety fairy-tale villain who waters poisonous flowers. She’s old-world, merciless, and entirely convinced that her moral code is the only sane code — and honestly sometimes she’s right? Maternal one moment, monstrous the next; she might knit you a sweater and then ruin your life for looking at her wrong. Also, she has an inexplicable love for doilies and a pet that may or may not be named after a saint.

Wyatt Langmore

Wyatt is quiet and gentle in a world that screams, the kind of person who listens before he acts, usually to his own detriment. He tries to do right, even though “right” is complicated where he comes from, and he’s always trying to break the family cycles he was born into. Loyal, low-key funny, and secretly artistic — I can totally see him sketching on brown paper while everyone else argues. He mumbles to plants when he thinks no one’s watching, yes that’s a real thing I’m attributing to him.

Rachel

Rachel (yes, the bar person — I promise I’m remembering the right one) is small-town warmth with a messy thread of secrets; she smiles too brightly sometimes, which makes you wonder what she’s hiding. She’s vulnerable and a little lost, tries to do the right thing but gets in over her head, which is painfully relatable. She sings off-key at the Blue Cat maybe? Or maybe she hums gospel; either way she’s the kind of person you want to hug and also give a stern talking-to. Drives a stupidly dented red truck, I’m sure of it.

Roy Petty

Roy is the obsessive FBI guy who treats cases like personal vendettas and paperwork like holy scripture — precise, relentless, and morally messy. He’s the kind of lawman who believes in the endgame so hard he’ll play dirty to get there, and that makes him both effective and freaky. Intimidating and oddly personal; he’ll stare at you like he’s cataloguing your soul and then send you a letter about it. He listens to sad 80s ballads at midnight and swears it helps him focus, which is both tragic and slightly cool.

Jacob Snell

Jacob is old-school organized crime with country charm — calm, efficient, and quietly brutal when the books say it must be done. He values tradition, land, and control, treats the heroin trade like an agricultural enterprise, and somehow makes you respect the efficiency even as you hate him. He’s polite at the table and monstrous after dark, and those contradictions are what make him oddly memorable. Also, he probably smokes something out of an antique pipe and hums old tunes while counting money — it’s very cinematic.

Sam Dermody

Sam is the local who means well — affable, a bit naive, and easy to trust until things get weird, which they always do. He’s the kind of small-town helper who’ll lend you a trailer and tell you about his cousin and then be dragged into the chaos like a confused golden retriever. Brave in bursts, clueless the rest of the time; he has a sweet tooth for homemade pies and terrible judgment in romantic partners. I could see him building birdhouses on the weekends and accidentally overhearing something important, classic Sam move.