In just six days, Netflix’s latest crime drama, The Waterfront, has surged to the top of the streaming giant’s charts, amassing a staggering 8.3 million views and captivating audiences with its raw, unflinching portrayal of a North Carolina fishing dynasty teetering on the edge of ruin. Described as “Ozark with saltwater,” this eight-episode series, created by Kevin Williamson, dives headfirst into a murky world of drug smuggling, family dysfunction, and buried secrets. But what sets it apart is its deeply personal roots, inspired by Williamson’s own upbringing in a fishing community rocked by desperation and crime. This is no glossy soap opera—it’s a jagged, emotional journey through a coastal town where every wave hides something rotten.
A Dynasty in Decay
Set in the fictional town of Havenport, North Carolina, The Waterfront centers on the Buckley family, a once-proud clan whose fishing empire has long dominated the local economy. For decades, their boats hauled in shrimp and their restaurants fed the town, but now, the tides have turned. Overfished waters, mounting debts, and shifting economic realities have left their legacy crumbling. Patriarch Harlan Buckley (Holt McCallany), a hard-drinking, larger-than-life figure recovering from two near-fatal heart attacks, has stepped back from the business, leaving his wife, Belle (Maria Bello), and son, Cane (Jake Weary), to keep the family afloat. Their daughter, Bree (Melissa Benoist), a recovering addict who lost custody of her teenage son, Diller, after burning down the family home, is struggling to rebuild her life while navigating a dangerous entanglement that could sink them all.
The series opens with a botched drug-smuggling run on a Buckley boat, a desperate attempt to plug the financial holes in their empire. This isn’t a new venture for the Buckleys—drug running is a generational sin, one Harlan fought to escape decades ago. But when Cane, reckless and ambitious, dives back into the trade, he unwittingly sets off a chain reaction of violence, betrayal, and scrutiny from local law enforcement, including Sheriff Clyde Porter (Michael Gaston) and DEA Agent Marcus Sanchez (Gerardo Celasco). As bodies pile up—some disposed of in alligator-filled swamps, others tangled in fishing nets—the family’s carefully constructed facade begins to crack, exposing a web of infidelity, lies, and long-buried resentments.
A Personal Story Rooted in Reality
What makes The Waterfront stand out in the crowded field of family crime dramas is its deeply personal inspiration. Kevin Williamson, the mastermind behind Scream, Dawson’s Creek, and The Vampire Diaries, grew up in Oriental, North Carolina, a small fishing town not unlike Havenport. His father, Wade, was a fisherman who, in the 1980s, turned to smuggling marijuana to survive the collapse of the fishing industry. Wade’s arrest for conspiring to traffic 20,000 pounds of marijuana left a lasting mark on Williamson, who waited until his father’s passing to tell this story. “I was the small-town weirdo,” Williamson has said, reflecting on his childhood as an outsider in a tight-knit community. “I couldn’t wait to get out, but all I wanted to do was write about it.”
This autobiographical thread gives The Waterfront a raw authenticity that elevates it beyond the typical crime drama. The show doesn’t shy away from the moral ambiguity of its characters—there are no heroes here, only flawed people making increasingly desperate choices. Harlan, played with magnetic intensity by McCallany, is both a charismatic leader and a reckless philanderer whose past decisions haunt the present. Belle, portrayed by Bello with steely resolve, is a mother torn between protecting her family and pursuing her own ambitions, even if it means crossing ethical lines. Cane, embodied by Weary’s brooding physicality, mirrors his father’s charisma but lacks his restraint, while Bree, brought to life by Benoist’s nuanced performance, is the emotional heart of the series, her struggle with addiction and redemption resonating deeply.
A Coastal Noir with Bite
The Waterfront is unapologetically pulpy, leaning into its soapy roots with melodramatic flair. Twists come fast and furious—every episode ends with a cliffhanger that dares you not to hit “next.” Murders are brutal and creative, from shark-bait interrogations to bodies fed to alligators, and the show’s coastal setting adds a gritty, almost gothic atmosphere. The cinematography, with its moody shots of weathered boats and misty marshes, evokes a sense of decay that mirrors the Buckley family’s unraveling. Yet, for all its over-the-top moments, the series grounds itself in the messy, human dynamics of its characters. Sibling rivalries, parental failures, and romantic entanglements are as central to the plot as the drug deals and double-crosses.
The supporting cast adds layers of intrigue. Rafael L. Silva shines as Shawn West, a bartender with a shocking connection to the Buckleys, while Humberly González brings depth to Jenna Tate, a journalist and Cane’s former flame whose return to Havenport stirs old wounds. Topher Grace steals scenes as Grady, a sociopathic drug kingpin whose unpredictable energy injects a wild card into the narrative. These characters, flawed and fascinating, operate in a moral gray zone where every decision feels like a choice between two evils.
A Familiar Yet Fresh Formula
Fans of Ozark, Yellowstone, or Bloodline will find familiar echoes in The Waterfront—the dysfunctional family, the criminal underbelly, the high-stakes power struggles. Social media posts have likened it to “Ozark meets Sons of Anarchy meets Yellowstone,” with its blend of marine grit, shocking violence, and dynastic drama. Yet, Williamson’s signature style—snappy dialogue, character-driven plotting, and a knack for blending camp with sincerity—sets it apart. Unlike Ozark’s meticulous plotting or Yellowstone’s sprawling scope, The Waterfront feels more intimate, more like a coastal noir than a sprawling epic. Its eight-episode season, with episodes ranging from 40 to 60 minutes, is paced for binge-watching, though some critics have noted that the breakneck speed sacrifices deeper character exploration.
The show isn’t without flaws. The dialogue can veer into clunky territory, and some plot twists feel more convenient than organic. Certain character arcs, particularly Cane’s romantic entanglements, could use more breathing room to develop naturally. Yet, these missteps are overshadowed by the show’s relentless momentum and the strength of its performances. Benoist, in particular, delivers a standout turn as Bree, her raw portrayal of addiction and self-discovery anchoring the series’ emotional core. McCallany and Bello, as the embattled patriarch and matriarch, share a crackling chemistry that makes their fraught marriage both compelling and heartbreaking.
A Binge-Worthy Escape
The Waterfront is the Netflix equivalent of a beach read—entertaining, escapist, and just the right amount of trashy. It’s not aiming to reinvent the genre, but it doesn’t need to. What it offers is a gripping, emotionally charged story about a family fighting to hold onto their legacy, even as their choices tear them apart. The coastal setting, with its blend of beauty and danger, serves as a perfect backdrop for a tale of ambition, betrayal, and redemption. Whether it’s the spectacle of a fishing net murder or the quiet devastation of a mother-son confrontation, the show knows how to keep you hooked.
As of June 26, 2025, The Waterfront has already sparked buzz for a potential second season, with Williamson teasing plans for three more. The finale leaves plenty of loose ends—alliances shattered, secrets exposed, and a violent standoff at sea that changes the Buckleys forever. For now, the show stands as a testament to Williamson’s ability to craft addictive, character-driven drama, even if it doesn’t quite reach the heights of his earlier work. If you’re craving a series that’s equal parts gritty and glamorous, with a family as messy as the waters they navigate, The Waterfront is worth diving into.
So, grab your remote and prepare to get swept away. Havenport’s secrets are waiting—and they’re darker than you think.
