Is ‘The Waterfront’ better than ‘Ozark’?
Somewhere between luxury and rot, between long shadows and loud silences, The Waterfront has quietly emerged as Netflix’s next big obsession. And now the question floating around your group chats is very real: Is it better than Ozark?
The answer depends on what you are looking for. Because while the two shows share DNA… crime, cover-ups, and middle-class decay, their execution could not be more different. Where Ozark was ice-cold and calculated, The Waterfront is warm-toned and emotionally raw. It trades slow-burn dread for atmospheric unravelling. And in that shift, something unexpected happens. The tension hits closer to home.
What is fascinating is how The Waterfront leans into quiet chaos. It does not rush to deliver plot twists or violent payoffs. Instead, it lets the weight build slowly. Conversations stretch. Glances linger. Everything feels like it could crack at any second, and that’s what makes it addictive. It trusts the viewer to sit in discomfort, not escape it.
Ozark walked so The Waterfront could swim and maybe even sink you deeper.
Ozark was about control. The Waterfront is about erosion.
From the first episode, Ozark was a chess game. Every move, every betrayal, every lie had an almost mathematical weight. The Byrdes were architects of their own doom, drawing blueprints in blood. It was brilliant. It was brutal. And sometimes, it was exhausting.
The Waterfront, on the other hand, is not about building anything. It is about things falling apart. Slowly, subtly, and beautifully. It is about marriages that look intact but are hollow. Friendships that rot behind birthday smiles. The crime here is not loud. It drips down like water damage in an oceanfront villa. By the time you notice it, it has already ruined everything.
The setting changes everything
Ozark had its palette: grey, sterile, corporate dread. The lake felt like a mirror. Nothing escaped its reflection. It worked for what it was, a show about laundering money in a place that looked like it had already been drained of joy.
The Waterfront, in contrast, is set against sunlit waves, crisp wine glasses, and the illusion of ease. But that is the trick. It is all aesthetic. The real drama hides under glassy surfaces. This is never a place where people get shot in parking lots. This is where truths are weaponised at dinner tables. And somehow, that is more terrifying.
Character arcs: fear vs grief
In Ozark, characters were driven by fear. Fear of being caught. Fear of each other. Fear of what they had already become.
In The Waterfront, the dominant emotion is grief. Grief over lost versions of the self. Grief for lives that could have been. It is quieter, but no less brutal. These people are not trying to survive. They are trying to feel something again.
The result? Characters who spiral not just because they have secrets, but because they no longer know who they are. And watching that unfold is as gripping as any gunshot.
The women aren’t just props, they are storms
Let’s be honest. As brilliant as Ozark was, it often framed women through the lens of utility. Wendy Byrde became compelling in later seasons, but it took time. Ruth Langmore stole scenes, but she was always orbiting someone else’s chaos.
In The Waterfront, the women are not supporting the tension. They are the tension. They hold secrets like weapons. They break, but they also break others. And their arcs are not just about reacting to trauma but about orchestrating it. It’s like watching a symphony of unravelling, and every note is hit perfectly.
So, is The Waterfront better?
If you want a high-octane crime thriller with constant turns, Ozark will still scratch that itch. But if you want a show that simmers instead of explodes, one that chooses emotional weight over body count, The Waterfront might just be the better-made show.
It is quieter but sharper. It is prettier but darker. It is newer but already feels timeless. And if that sounds like a contradiction, good.