Let’s be real for a second. Most Westerns treat Billy the Kid like a cartoon. He’s either a bloodthirsty psychopath or a shiny-teethed Robin Hood with a six-shooter. But MGM+’s gritty take on the legend tries to find the middle ground. It’s messy. It’s dusty. Honestly, it’s a lot more about the immigrant experience than just "pew pew" in the desert. When you look at the Billy the Kid TV series characters, you aren't just seeing actors in hats; you're seeing a breakdown of the power structures that actually built—and broke—the American West.
Tom Blyth plays William H. Bonney with this sort of quiet, simmering desperation that feels authentic to a kid who grew up in the slums of New York and the dirt of Kansas. He doesn't look like a killer at first. That's the point. The show spends a massive amount of time on his childhood, which is where most people get bored, but it’s crucial. You’ve got to see the loss of his mother, Catherine McCarty, to understand why he eventually went on a tear.
The Heart of the Matter: Billy and His Inner Circle
Billy is the sun everything orbits around, obviously. But the show works because of the gravity of the people around him. Take Antrim, his stepfather. He’s a piece of work. Played by Jamie Beamish, he’s basically the catalyst for Billy’s distrust of authority. When Antrim abandons the family in Silver City, it sets off a domino effect. Billy isn't born a bandit; he’s a kid who gets left behind.
Then there’s Jesse Evans. If Billy is the reluctant hero, Jesse is the guy who leaned into the chaos long ago. Dakota Daulby plays him with this magnetic, greasy charm that makes you realize why Billy would follow him into trouble. Jesse is the leader of the "Seven Rivers Gang." In the show, their relationship is a "frenemy" dynamic that feels remarkably modern. They love each other, they want to kill each other, and sometimes they’re doing both at the same time. It’s one of the best portrayals of outlaw brotherhood put to film because it isn't sanitized. They’re dirtbags. But they’re human dirtbags.
The Women Who Shaped the Outlaw
We have to talk about Catherine McCarty. Eileen O'Higgins brings a tragic resilience to the role. Most historians agree Catherine was the only person Billy truly respected. Her death from tuberculosis isn't just a plot point; it’s the end of Billy’s moral compass. Once she’s gone, the kid is untethered.
Later on, we meet Dulcinea del Toboso. Now, the show takes some creative liberties here, but she’s based on the various women Billy was rumored to be involved with in Chihuahua and New Mexico. Nuria Vega plays her as a woman of means and intelligence. She represents a life Billy could have had if he wasn't constantly running from a warrant. Their chemistry adds a layer of "what if" to a story that we all know ends in a dark room in Fort Sumner.
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The Law and the Lawless: The Lincoln County War
When the show shifts into the Lincoln County War, the Billy the Kid TV series characters list gets a lot more crowded and a lot more political. This isn't just a bar fight. It’s a corporate war.
- John Tunstall: Played by Linus Roache. He’s the refined English cattleman who tries to mentor Billy. He sees Billy as a "beautiful soul" or whatever, but really, he’s using Billy’s gun to protect his business interests. It’s a father-son dynamic built on a foundation of commercial rivalry.
- Alexander McSween: The lawyer. He’s the moral center who eventually realizes that in New Mexico, the law is just whatever the guy with the most money says it is.
- Lawrence Murphy: The villain. Sort of. Ian Hart plays Murphy as a decaying, alcoholic power broker. He’s part of "The House," the Irish monopoly that controlled everything in Lincoln.
Murphy is fascinating because he isn't a mustache-twirling baddie. He’s a guy who built an empire and is terrified of losing it to a "refined" Englishman like Tunstall. The ethnic tension between the Irish (Murphy) and the English (Tunstall) is a huge part of the show’s DNA. It explains why the violence got so out of hand—it was tribal.
Pat Garrett: The Man Who Ended the Legend
You can’t talk about this show without mentioning Pat Garrett. Alex Roe steps into the boots of the man who would eventually kill Billy. In the series, they start out as friends—or at least associates. This is historically accurate. They gambled together. They drank together.
The show does a great job of showing Garrett’s transition from a drifter to a man who realizes that the only way to survive in the West is to pick the winning side. And the winning side was the law. Watching the slow-motion car crash of their friendship is the most heartbreaking part of the second season. Garrett isn't a hero in this version; he’s a pragmatist. He’s the guy who chooses a paycheck and a badge over loyalty.
The Regulators and the Seven Rivers Gang
The supporting cast of outlaws adds the "texture" that makes the show feel lived-in. You have guys like Charlie Bowdre and Tom O'Folliard. These aren't just names on a gravestone. The show gives them personalities. Charlie is the loyal friend who just wants to farm but keeps getting dragged back into the fight. Tom is the younger, even more impressionable kid who looks up to Billy the way Billy looked up to Jesse.
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On the other side, you have the Murphy-Dolan faction. These guys are basically state-sponsored terrorists. They have the Sheriff (William Brady) in their pocket. This is where the show gets really cynical. It shows how the "Bad Guys" were actually the ones with the badges. It makes you root for Billy, not because he’s a "good" person, but because his enemies are so much worse.
Why This Version of the Characters Matters
Most people think they know Billy the Kid. They think of the tintype photo—the one where he looks a bit bug-eyed and disheveled. But the Billy the Kid TV series characters are written to challenge that image. They focus on the fact that these were mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings.
Billy was roughly 21 when he died.
Pat Garrett was a young man.
Jesse Evans was a kid.
When you see them on screen, they’re impulsive. They make terrible decisions because they’re young and they’re angry. The show captures that "lost generation" vibe of the 1870s. The Civil War had ended, leaving a bunch of traumatized men with no jobs and a lot of guns. That’s the environment that created Billy.
Factual Nuances vs. Hollywood Fluff
The series gets a lot right about the Lincoln County War. It doesn't shy away from the corruption of the "Santa Fe Ring," a group of politicians and lawyers who essentially stole land from everyone—Mexicans and poor whites alike. By putting Billy in the middle of this, the show turns a "Western" into a "Political Thriller."
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However, keep in mind that the timeline is sometimes compressed. Billy’s time in Arizona, where he killed his first man (Frank "Ventilator" Cahill), is handled quickly to get to the "good stuff" in New Mexico. But the essence of the characters remains true to the historical record. Billy was known to be charming, fluent in Spanish, and incredibly fast with a winchester. Tom Blyth nails the linguistic part—his interactions with the Mexican-American community feel respectful and grounded in the history of the territory.
How to Dive Deeper Into the Lore
If you're watching the show and find yourself Googling every name that pops up, you're not alone. The history of the American Southwest is a rabbit hole of "Wait, he actually did that?" moments.
To get the most out of the series, keep these steps in mind:
- Look up the "Lincoln County War" map: Seeing the geography of the plaza in Lincoln helps you understand how the final shootout (the Big Fight) actually worked. It was a siege, not a duel.
- Research the "Santa Fe Ring": If you want to know who the real villains were, it wasn't the guys with the guns. It was the guys in the three-piece suits in Santa Fe.
- Check out the real Tintype: Compare Tom Blyth’s performance to the actual photos of the Regulators. You'll see the costume department did their homework.
- Read "The Authentic Life of Billy, the Kid" by Pat Garrett: Just remember, Pat wrote it to sell books and make himself look like a hero. Take it with a massive grain of salt.
The characters in this series aren't just historical figures; they are symbols of a period in American history where the line between "pioneer" and "criminal" was paper-thin. Whether it's Billy's search for a home or Pat Garrett's search for respectability, their motivations feel real because they are rooted in the basic human need to survive in a world that doesn't care if you live or die.
The next time you sit down to watch an episode, pay attention to the background players. Notice how the Mexican villagers treat Billy. That’s the real clue to his character. He wasn't a hero to the government, but to the people who were being stepped on by "The House," he was the only one fighting back. And that’s why we’re still telling his story over 140 years later.
To fully grasp the stakes of the final season, look into the biography of Lew Wallace. He was the Governor of New Mexico and the author of Ben-Hur. His involvement—and his broken promise of a pardon to Billy—is the final nail in the coffin for the Kid’s faith in the system. Knowing that betrayal is coming makes Billy’s actions in the later episodes even more poignant. It wasn't just a choice to be an outlaw; it was the only option left on the table.