The Fall is about a serial killer in Belfast. Gillian Anderson plays Stella. Jamie Dornan is Paul. They chase a dangerous mind. It’s all about psychological drama and emotional messes. Characters have complex lives. Critics loved it. They praised performances, writing and visuals. But let’s be real. Who cares about all that? Just tell me if I am more like a detective or a killer.

Meet the characters from The Fall

Stella Gibson

Oh Stella — the absolute coolest headache you’ll ever meet. She’s razor-sharp, hyper-observant and moves like she’s three steps ahead even when she’s pretending not to be; also, she owns too many coats and you notice every one of them. Isn’t she the kind of person who drinks very expensive whiskey and pretends she hates sweets but secretly keeps a secret stash of chocolate in a drawer? Professional, slightly aloof, kind of scary in meetings, but honestly soft in ways she rarely lets anyone see (and you get the sense she keeps surprisingly good tabs on people’s birthdays).

Paul Spector

Okay, this one’s messy and dark — Paul is so calm on the surface it’s unnerving, like tea and a thermostat but with a shadow. He’s unnervingly controlled, polite in the worst ways, and plays family-man and counselor roles with this almost clinical tenderness; also for some reason he collects tiny spoons? He’s the walking contradiction: caring dad/doting husband vibe one minute, and then this cold, obsessive privacy the next — it doesn’t add up and that’s exactly what makes him so chilling. People call him quiet, but really he’s like a still pond that you know has something moving beneath it.

Jim Burns

Jim is the bluster-y, old-school cop energy — loud laugh, half-chewed pens, keeps trying to be everyone’s mate but secretly wants to be taken seriously. He makes the room feel smaller and warmer at the same time, like someone who tells bad jokes and then notices the evidence you missed; also he always seems to have a fag in his pocket even if he doesn’t smoke all the time. He’s a little impulsive, a bit insecure, but genuinely stubborn in the way only people who actually care can be. Kind of infuriating, kind of lovable, and definitely the guy who’ll show up with a thermos when everyone else forgets their lunch.

Katie Benedetto

Katie reads like the perfect “missed chances” character — quiet, a bit dreamy, and the sort of person who hums to herself on a bus and writes little poems in the margins of textbooks. She’s small gestures and loud silences, very vulnerable in a way that makes you want to wrap a blanket around her, and also she keeps breaking little rules that surprise you (like eating spicy food at midnight). There’s a fragile, honest energy about her and the weird little details — a ribbon in her hair one day, a ripped sneaker the next — make her feel totally real. You keep thinking she’s going to be okay, and then you remember: not always.

Danielle Ferrington

Danielle is messy, impulsive, and sharp as a pin, and you can’t help but root for her even when she’s making terrible choices. She’s got this quick laugh that cuts through tension, and then she’ll do something like disappear for hours and come back with lipstick on her collar — who knows what’s going on, really. Loyal-ish but unpredictable, she’s the friend you call at 2 a.m. and also the one who’ll steal your fries without asking (and you’ll forgive her because she’s that kind of person). There’s grit under her glam, and somehow she’s always louder than the situation warrants.

Sally Ann Spector

Sally Ann is this maternal force who organises everything until she forgets herself, an endlessly practical person with a soft heart tucked under aprons and grocery lists. She’s loyal in a way that’s both beautiful and heartbreaking — fiercely protective of her family and also completely exhausted sometimes, like someone who makes tea at 3 a.m. and cries into it. There’s a steadiness that makes her the backbone of her household, yet she also has these quiet moments where she looks like she could vanish into a book or a garden. Sweet, worn, resilient — and probably owns more teacups than sense.

Olivia Spector

Olivia bursts with that awkward, frank teenage energy — sullen and sweet in equal portions, fierce loyalty mixed with secret softness. She’s artsy? Maybe. She doodles in class, listens to moody music, and speaks in one-sentence truths that cut right through adult nonsense; also she borrows her mum’s scarves and acts like it’s a protest. There’s a raw authenticity about her, a tendency to be blunt when people would rather be polite, which is kind of glorious and embarrassing at once. She’s still figuring herself out, loud about small rebellions, and oddly compassionate for someone who rolls their eyes all the time.

Matthew Eastwood

Matthew is the quiet, measured investigator with the poker face and the tendency to look at case files like they’re a puzzle he can’t wait to solve — and honestly, he probably drinks too much coffee. He’s methodical, a bit bookish, and he wears concern like a private coat; also he hums old tunes under his breath when he’s deep in paperwork, which is oddly charming. There’s a careful decency to him, the kind that steadies the rest of the team, but he’s not immune to frustration and sometimes you’ll catch him muttering at a photocopier like it personally offended him. Competent, slightly awkward, and quietly persistent — the person who will remind you of small facts later and expect you to be grateful.

Gail McNally

Gail is sharp, hungry for answers, and very human about it — earnest, occasionally flustered, and annoyingly good at noticing tiny inconsistencies everyone else misses. She keeps a messy desk but somehow reads symptoms in a person’s face like a novel, and she has a playlist of dumb pop songs that she hides like a secret vice. Brave in a kind of fumbling way, she throws herself at problems and sometimes gets bruised, but mostly she just keeps going — resilient and a little stubborn. Also, she probably eats cereal for dinner and then pretends it’s a lifestyle choice.

Rose Stagg

Rose gives off this quietly watchful vibe, like someone who remembers the exact pattern of rain on your window and will tell you about it later, suddenly and without warning. She seems ordinary — maybe a neighbor or someone who quietly notices everything — but there’s this steely core to her, a patience that’s almost eerie in how calm it is. She hums old jingles, keeps a cat that’s clearly the boss, and says things that land like soft punches; you don’t realise the weight of her words until later. Gentle but complex, like a teacup with a crack that somehow makes it more interesting.