When we were first introduced to Bob Odenkirk’s adorably nefarious character Saul Goodman years ago in the Emmy award winning drama “Breaking Bad,” it became clear to most viewer he would continue to play a pivotal role in the progression of the story. His witty, humorous dialogue riddled with metaphors and dense vernacular, while also in the midst of constant felonious activity, left us with a character we could relate to, laugh at, fear for and empathize with, despite the conundrum that is his fragmented personality.

Saul, in Breaking Bad, despite being the equivalent of Walter White’s (the protagonist/antagonist of Breaking Bad) henchman or lackey, brought energy to the scene near the equivalency of Walter’s. We became transfixed with his being, the ways in which he seemingly always slips through the cracks of all the unfortunate circumstances his own haphazard actions had lead him to. And how through all the meaningless deprivation, and no matter how thick the tension, he was always there to provide some trivial anecdote, or some buffoonish correlation that left us with stupid grins and an eagerness for the next development of their sinister livelihood.

When it all ended, we were all left hollow, with no shows of comparative quality. The producers sensed this, as it’s their job to do so, although you can’t have a sequel to a story in which the protagonist is killed without ruining the integrity of said story. In some board meeting at some juncture that none of us could be sure of the specifics, the important people remembered Saul Goodman, and Better Call Saul was born.

The first two seasons of Better Call Saul, the latter of which ended on April 18, have been nostalgic and full of whimsical candor, featuring many characters from the Breaking Bad series. The show takes place in Albuquerque, New Mexico, derivative of its predecessor,  and spends its’ weekly hour recounting revelations that explain the events leading to Saul’s, or rather, Jimmy McGill’s, eventual name change and subsequent demise. Jimmy seems to be stuck in a seemingly perpetual scramble, feverently finicky, desperately trying to stake his claim in an industry nobody thinks he belongs in. His precarious personality leads him to bend corners and stretch the truth effortlessly. In his own mind, he’s evening the odds, in everyone else’s, he’s anarchy.

These manufactured power plays and pure coincidences eve have been well within the realm of an average human’s expectations for surface reality, if only barely outside the realm.  Jimmy seems to be tiptoeing on a tightrope, dangling on the edge of his existence, which constantly begs the question as to what his primary motives entail. The ends never seem to justify the means, and one can only wonder whether he does things like create faulty evidence or blackmail cohorts out of necessity, or purely for the adrenaline.

Despite this dynamic, the tone is much more relaxed. The sense of dread and doom that encompassed Walter and set the precedent for much of Breaking Bad has been replaced by gentler anxious twinges as Jimmy establishes his claim in the legal industry while fervently navigating setbacks and stipulations. Granted, the decadent and depraved nature of the wheeling and dealings of Breaking Bad leaves you, at times, yearning for more tenacity in this new counterpart, but that yearning no longer feels like the gaping maw it once was, and it’s not often.

While Jimmy McGill’s exploits make up half of the television show, the other half features the progression of another major Breaking Bad support character, Mike Ehrmantraut. Mike was at the forefront of Walter and companies’ criminal enterprise, acting as a chief security specialist, and proves to be a master sleuth long before the two ever crossed paths.  This is the half of the show where the more perilous danger takes place, as Mike provides for his granddaughter through whatever means necessary, taking you back to the drug-fueled rampage of yesteryear.  The violence and carnage is coincided by Mike’s objective and through nature. His criminal endeavors aren’t erratic or underestimated, and his mantra, as he states himself, “If you’re going to be a criminal, do your homework.” This being said, Mike almost always accounts for all the variables involved. Almost.

Now that season two has concluded, I think it’s fair to speculate that the creators of the series are setting the stage for something truly monumental. In order for a profound, provocative plot development, time must be given for all of the variables and circumstances to marinate and stew. I can feel that obligatory craving for more content, an incessant itch to know and understand the dramatic conclusion that is sure to follow. My writhe for their particular entertainment is a staple reaction of good storytelling, and is the feeling in which I base my opinion off of.

And if that isn’t enough for you to add Better Call Saul to your “Netflix and Chill” scheduling, then get this: Bob Odenkirk is a College of Dupage alumnus. He walked the very halls that you’re now reading these words in, and is now one of the most successful actors of our time. Internationally recognized and Emmy award winning: the kind of success only garnered by those of supreme discipline. Knowing that someone of his professional caliber attended this college is inspiring.

It’s only a matter of time until Better Call Saul attains the poignancy of its predecessor. You can either start now and enjoy the ride at the pace it’s meant to be experienced at, or wait a few years and binge watch it entirely as your bandwagon friends pester you as to why you’re not caught up yet.