Netflix series Ozark channels an American anti-hero
There are very few things I’ve seen Jason Bateman in that didn’t have me in stitches. He’s generally the dry sarcastic wit of a production that never fails to produce a good time for moviegoers, and fans of his work on Arrested Development know he’s well-suited for television as well.
His performances in films like This is Where I Leave You and Disconnect were testaments to the fact that he’s always had the ability to take on more serious roles, but may have been pigeon-holed into comedy because of his inherent hilariousness.
Thank you to Netflix’s Ozark for giving us a different view of Bateman that shows he’s more than just the loveable dick of the group in a comedy. As a disinterested Chicago financial adviser, Marty Byrde (Bateman) lives his life with a glazed look and a passive aggressive demeanor perfectly supported by his formerly mentioned wit.
But there’s something to Marty beyond watching porn during meetings with potential clients; he’s the top money launderer for the second largest drug cartel in Mexico.
The show takes on a more criminal-driven Breaking Bad-esque plot, with Marty doing what he needs to first provide for his family, and then protect them, but for reasons more self-serving than Walter White’s cancer-driven agenda.
And where Walter’s decisions build off of his ever-growing ego, Marty’s choices become increasingly survival-based. It’s a comparison that’s hard not to make, so remember, as with Breaking Bad, Ozark is a slow build, but worth the effort of hanging on.
The cinematography alone is enough to grasp the viewer, phenomenally shot in what seems like a filter of blues and greys, reflecting Marty’s dull view of his life in its monotone hues.
Bateman directed the first two episodes himself, and two later ones, and while this show may not have the sense of urgency you’d expect to see with a plot like this, its slow draw is a satisfying one.The pilot opens with Marty stashing cash in a shambled garage while he blandly narrates about cash—bones, clams, loot, bread—and how while the American dream may not be dead, we have a fundamentally flawed view of money.
In the calm, collected manner in which Marty conducts himself throughout the series, he says, “Money is not piece of mind. Money is not happiness. Money is, at its essence, that measure of a man’s choices.”
Learning that Marty’s partners have skimmed money from the cartel, cartel leader Del has no choice but to take them out, but Marty, being the smooth-talker that he is sees his choices before him and makes a last-ditch effort in saving his own life and that of his family by suggesting they move the business from Chicago to the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri.
Why?
To loot the economy built on the backs of millions of tourists that wash into the Ozarks every summer, outside of the watchful eye of the FBI and other government officials. Laundering five-hundred million over the next five years is but a small task in exchange for your life, right, Marty?
Bateman shines as the perfect anti-hero. We believe he knows what he’s doing, what he’s talking about, all because of how he says he’ll get things done. His actions, language, and knowledge of business assures us that even if he doesn’t have it all figured out now, he’ll get it straight in the end.
Maybe it’s the draw of Bateman as an actor, but despite knowing that he’s willingly gotten into seedy business for the wrong reasons, it’s easy to root for Marty that all this shit works out in the end. His wife Wendy is the bland, grocery-shopping every afternoon mother of two who has one or two of her own secrets, brilliantly portrayed by Laura Linney.
Her clipped demeanor and quick temper make her a standout supporting character to Bateman’s performance that is continuously cool, even when he literally brings a knife to a gunfight.
For those of you who enjoy fast-paced action, Ozark may be too reserved and slow-building, but overall, its plot and cast of characters bring to life an artsy and enthralling look into the lives of your typical family harboring a mountainous secret.