Photo courtesy of Netflix
One of the top shows on Netflix, “Ozark” takes its cue from “Breaking Bad.” Like its predecessor, the story concerns a white collar professional and his family who, through the money-making decisions made by dad and the ready complicity of mom, descend deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of criminality linked to a Mexican drug cartel.
Of course, “Ozark” charts its own course. It opens in Chicago and leaps into a region that—as with the Southwest of “Breaking Bad”—provides many opportunities for local color and local characters. Co-protagonist Marty Byrde (Jason Bateman) is a financial advisor whose Windy City firm has a shady side. They have been working with a trucking company to launder money for a cartel headed by the unsmiling Del (Esai Morales). Somebody’s been cheating and Del isn’t a man to be trifled with. The truckers and Marty’s partner are massacred in a warehouse; Marty survives through some fast talking and faster thinking. He pulls a crumpled Ozark tourism brochure from his pocket and improvises on the prospects of the region, “The Redneck Riviera.”
Del is skeptical but gives Marty time to explain. The Ozarks are under-policed and increasingly flooded with tourist dollars. Real estate is cheap and the locals none-too-bright—we can launder twice as much money down there than in Chicago! Del keeps listening. They strike a deal but Del holds all the cards. He gives Marty 48 hours to uproot his family and move to southern Missouri. And he imposes time limits on Marty’s venture capitalism, which will involve buying stakes in local businesses. Del wants results, not promises.
Marty is kind of a jerk but we learn to admire his resourcefulness. Co-protagonist Wendy (Laura Linney) maintains the façade of contented suburban momhood but has a knife-sharp edge when pushed. Their marriage long ago deteriorated into infidelity (she’s having an affair with a philanthropist) and Internet porn (he’s watching on his laptop while she checks her email on the other side of the living room). “A family is like a small business,” Marty says, adding after their unhopeful arrival in small-town Missouri, “We’re not husband and wife anymore. We’re partners and our job is to raise those kids.”
Like many marriages, the kids are the wire holding the broken arrangement together. For Marty and Wendy, it’s Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz), a snarky and snobby 15-year old; and her younger brother Jonah (Skylar Gaertner), the relatively innocent member of the household.
Now in their third season, the Byrdes have many problems to face beyond the culture shock of parachuting from the Windy City into hillbilly country. Some of the locals are shrewder than Marty expected; a twisted FBI agent is staking them out; and cartel is watching its investment closely. To buttress spirits, Marty draws from a damp reservoir of American Dream clichés. “This country was built on people seeking opportunities,” he tells his family by way of an initial explanation for their abrupt move to Missouri.
The characters in “Ozark” who survive more than a single episode develop beyond one dimension. The action unfolds swiftly with many intriguing, interest-holding tricks. The chief difference between it and “Breaking Bad” comes down to this: “Breaking Bad” was a sharply-honed satire of contemporary life, infusing hilarity into tragedy. “Ozark” aims for realism and despite a few humorous moments, paints a grim picture.
