AMC’s “Better Call Saul” is a show filled with quiet pleasures. Considering this is the spinoff to a series you might have heard of called “Breaking Bad,” the Golden Age drama whose five-season run was known for mounting tension and explosive final acts, it may come as a surprise to some that the origin story of Bob Odenkirk’s sleazebag criminal lawyer Saul Goodman is a decidedly more unassuming character study. That’s what makes it so enjoyable.
Co-creators Vince Gilligan and Peter Gould, who took a substantial risk in re-purposing what seemed untouchable, borrows some of the best bits from its previously established universe — the sweeping shots of sun-scorched Albuquerque, the measured pace, the whip-smart dialogue, the tendency to montage. What it gives up is its predecessors’ flair for cathartic acts of violence.
Granted, its pilot episode felt like fanfiction — albeit quite good fanfiction — pitting middling lawman Jimmy McGill (the given name of Goodman) in an escalating series of bump-ins that result in a gun to his chest and a “Breaking Bad” player brought back from the dead. It found a distinctive voice, though, by placing faith in its stars and the patience of its audience to invest in a quirky legal drama.
Good thing, too. Season one of “Better Call Saul” was an absolute delight, telling the story of Goodman six years before meeting Walter White as he struggled to do right as a public defender. Through a series of flashbacks, we learn that McGill used to be “Slippin’ Jimmy,” a Cicero, Illinois, scammer who cashed in on feigned falls on the ice in front of local businesses. Those little joys in the first season came from its character dynamics: the relationship between McGill and his lawyer extraordinaire older brother, Chuck (Michael McKean), who now lives a secluded life free of technology because of an unexplainable psychotic disorder called electromagnetic sensitivity; McGill’s deadpan hook-up buddy Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn), who works at Chuck’s law firm Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill; the return of Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks), Walter White’s former cop tough-guy fixer, who gets a proper and heartbreaking origin story of his own; the zany weirdos and bingo-playing old folks who McGill defends.
By the season’s end, the show had struck a tone closer to that of a dramedy, with a meandering string of episodes that managed to lead to a devastating emotional revelation and fallout between McGill and his brother. Chuck had been McGill’s inspiration to do right; without him, he vows he will never let morality stand in his way again. It was almost upsetting, in a way, as I had come to like the good guy at the center of the show almost as much as Breaking Bad’s notorious lawyer in the brazen suits.
But season two expertly slams the reset button. McGill takes a job with the law firm Davis & Main, continuing work on a layover case from last season, while Mike slowly delves deeper into the criminal underbelly of Albuquerque. Often not much plot-wise goes down, making it the rare show that can entertain while not advancing forward. In one episode, for instance, the bulk of the action comes from McGill and Kim pulling tricks on an unsuspecting bar patrons. Gilligan, Gould and the writing staff are wonderful at little interactions that elicit laughter as they shed light on their characters. They also have a refreshingly realistic view of the American legal system, swapping out impassioned courtroom speeches for debates over plea deals conducted in the bathroom. “Better Call Saul” isn’t trying to impress anyone, and that’s what makes it such a delight. It also leaves plenty of Easter eggs for “Breaking Bad” fans to devour.
The difference between the two shows can be summed up in their disparate opening titles. “Breaking Bad,” of course, begins with that ominous wisp of green smoke over a brooding, chill-inducing guitar. “Better Call Saul,” on the other hand, introduces a different droll image each week — a coffee cup spilling, an inflatable statue of liberty, a neon green tie — drenched in 1990’s VHS saturation. And the guitar riff here is snappier, lighter and worthy of a barroom jukebox.
It can be read as a declaration that this is not “Breaking Bad,” but rather something a little lighter and harder to peg down. In a time of overly macho dramas that often take the wrong hints from the story of Walter White, it’s nice to see a show play with genre conventions and audience expectations.
The series may never reach the dizzying cinematic and blood-soaked heights of its source material, and that’s just fine. It still dazzles.
_Edited by Katie Rosso | krosso@themaneater.com_
