It shouldn't have worked. Seriously. When AMC announced a prequel about the "criminal" lawyer Saul Goodman, most of us figured it was a cynical cash grab. We expected a wacky "case of the week" sitcom where Bob Odenkirk cracked wise for 42 minutes. Instead, the AMC Better Call Saul series turned into a Shakespearean tragedy that, in many ways, actually outclassed its predecessor.
Jimmy McGill wasn't always the guy with the loud suits and the inflatable Statue of Liberty. He was just a guy trying to make his brother proud. That's the heartbreak of it. While Breaking Bad was about a good man turning into a monster, Better Call Saul is about a flawed man trying to be good and finding out the world won't let him. Or maybe he won't let himself. It’s complicated.
The Tragedy of Jimmy McGill
Jimmy McGill is a striver. He’s the guy who takes the correspondence law degree from the University of American Samoa while working in the mailroom of a high-powered law firm. He wants the corner office. He wants the respect of his older brother, Chuck, a legal titan played with agonizing precision by Michael McKean.
But Chuck knows Jimmy. He knows "Slippin' Jimmy" from Cicero, Illinois. In one of the most devastating scenes in television history, Chuck tells Jimmy, "The law is sacred! If you abuse that power, people get hurt! This is not a game!"
Chuck wasn't wrong. That's the kicker. He was a jerk, sure. He was elitist and suffered from a psychosomatic allergy to electricity that made him a literal prisoner in his own home. But he was right about Jimmy's nature. When you realize the "hero" of the show is being held back by a brother who loves him but doesn't trust him, the stakes become deeply personal. It’s not about meth labs yet. It’s about family.
The pacing is slow. I mean, really slow. Some people dropped off in Season 1 because they wanted explosions. They missed out. The show rewards patience like nothing else on TV. You spend three episodes watching Mike Ehrmantraut dismantle a car just to find a tracking device. It’s hypnotic. You’re learning how these people think.
Kim Wexler is the Real Protagonist
If you want to know why the AMC Better Call Saul series is a masterpiece, look at Kim Wexler. Rhea Seehorn gave a performance that redefined the "supportive partner" trope by completely shattering it. Kim isn't a moral compass. She’s Jimmy’s enabler, his co-conspirator, and eventually, his downfall.
Watching Kim’s descent is more painful than watching Jimmy’s. She had everything—the talent, the work ethic, the big-firm future. But she liked the "juice." She liked the scam.
Remember the Mesa Verde blueprints? Or the elaborate plot to ruin Howard Hamlin? That's where the show gets dark. Howard wasn't a villain. He was just a guy doing his job, maybe a little too polished for his own good, but fundamentally decent. What Jimmy and Kim did to him was cruel. It wasn't "Slippin' Jimmy" fun anymore. It was predatory.
Peter Gould and Vince Gilligan managed to make a ponytail—Kim’s perfectly tight, professional ponytail—a symbol of her mental state. When it started to fray, you knew things were going south. When she finally lets it down, the tragedy is complete.
Crossing the Breaking Bad Timeline
The show eventually catches up. We see the origins of Gus Fring’s superlab. We see how Mike became the cold-blooded cleaner we met in Breaking Bad. But even the "cartel" side of the show feels different here. It’s more bureaucratic. It’s about logistics and middle management.
Tony Dalton’s Lalo Salamanca changed the energy of the series entirely. He brought a terrifying, charismatic unpredictability that forced the "lawyer" side of the show and the "cartel" side to finally collide. When Lalo walks into Jimmy and Kim’s apartment, the air leaves the room. You realize that Jimmy’s "colorful" life has real-world consequences that include body bags.
The transition from Jimmy McGill to Saul Goodman isn't a single moment. It’s a slow erosion of the soul. By the time he’s suggesting "sending someone to Belize" in the Breaking Bad era, you remember the guy who spent his last cent to buy his brother a specific type of newspaper. It’s a gut punch.
Why the Ending Worked
Most prequels fail because we know where everyone ends up. We know Mike dies. We know Gus dies. We know Saul ends up managing a Cinnabon in Omaha.
The genius of the AMC Better Call Saul series was the "Gene Takavic" sequences. Those grainy, black-and-white glimpses into the future gave the show stakes that the prequel timeline couldn't provide. We didn't know if Gene would get caught, if he’d get killed, or if he’d finally find some kind of redemption.
The finale, "Saul Gone," is arguably better than "Felina." It’s quiet. It’s about a man finally taking responsibility. Jimmy could have gotten away with a seven-year sentence—he’s that good of a lawyer. He talked the prosecution down from life plus thirty years to a mere pittance.
But he didn't take it.
He confessed. Not because he wanted to go to jail, but because he wanted Kim to see that Jimmy McGill was still in there somewhere. He traded his freedom for his soul. It’s a beautiful, somber conclusion to one of the greatest character studies ever filmed.
How to Experience the Series Now
If you’re coming to this late, don't rush. This isn't a "background noise" show. You need to watch the background. You need to pay attention to the silence.
- Watch the cinematography: Notice how the camera uses negative space. Jimmy is often dwarfed by the architecture around him, symbolizing how the legal system and his brother's legacy overwhelm him.
- The "Waterworks" Episode: Pay close attention to the penultimate episode. It bridges the gap between the timelines in a way that recontextualizes everything you thought you knew about Saul’s behavior during the Walter White years.
- The Sound Design: The show uses sound—the hum of a refrigerator, the click of a light switch—to build tension better than any horror movie.
The AMC Better Call Saul series isn't just a spin-off. It’s a standalone epic about the tragedy of being "almost" good enough. It’s about the lies we tell ourselves to stay afloat. Honestly, it’s the best thing AMC has ever produced, and that’s saying something considering they gave us Mad Men.
To get the most out of your rewatch or first-time viewing, start by tracking the color palette. Note how the "losers" and "criminals" are often dressed in vibrant yellows and reds (the "hot" colors), while the "straight" world of the law is bathed in cool blues and greys. This visual storytelling tells you exactly where Jimmy belongs before he even opens his mouth. Once you see the color coding, you can't unsee it. It adds a whole new layer to the tragedy of a man trying to force himself into a blue-suit world when he’s built for a technicolor scam.