Quarry: A Striking slow burn crime drama that is severely underrated

When I first watched it, I wasn’t expecting much. A neo-noir crime drama about a Vietnam vet turned contract killer? I’d seen plenty of those. But Quarry wasn’t just another crime drama. It was something richer, moodier, and far more introspective than I ever expected. It’s a slow-burn, yes, but it’s also a masterclass in atmosphere, tension, and character study. And yet, almost nobody talks about it.

Set in 1972 Memphis, Quarry follows Mac Conway (Logan Marshall-Green), a Marine returning home from Vietnam, only to find that home isn’t waiting for him the way he’d hoped. He’s not met with parades or gratitude—he’s met with suspicion, hostility, and an economy that has no place for him. The war might be over for most, but for Mac, it never really ended.

Quarry isn’t just a crime drama; it’s a meditation on the lasting impact of Vietnam on American soldiers and society. The Vietnam War has been a rich, complex subject in cinema and television, often serving as a backdrop for deep explorations of trauma and disillusionment. Films like Taxi Driver (1976) and The Deer Hunter (1978) delve into the psychological scars left by war, while Apocalypse Now (1979) presents a surreal, nightmarish vision of combat’s madness. Quarry follows in these footsteps, examining not just how war breaks men, but how society fails them upon their return. Mac’s struggles mirror the isolation and anger seen in characters like Travis Bickle and Michael Vronsky, reinforcing Quarry's place within this powerful tradition. It’s a story about more than crime—it’s about a generation of men lost in the aftermath of war.

Unable to reintegrate into society, Mac is drawn into a world of contract killing by a mysterious figure known as The Broker (Peter Mullan), a man who seems to know everything about him before they’ve even met. What follows is a descent into a world of crime and moral compromise, but unlike most hitman stories, Quarry isn’t about the thrill of the job. It’s about the toll it takes. Every kill weighs on Mac, every decision digs him deeper into a pit he may never escape.

And the setting? It’s practically a character itself. The Deep South of the early ’70s is depicted with a hazy, oppressive heat that seeps into every frame. The cinematography is stunning—sometimes dreamlike, sometimes nightmarishly real. It’s one of those rare shows where you don’t just watch the story unfold; you feel it.

I’ll be honest—I wasn’t expecting to be blown away by Logan Marshall-Green. I’d seen him in supporting roles before, but Quarry proved he could carry an entire show on his shoulders. His performance is raw, understated, and deeply human. Mac isn’t your typical antihero—he’s not invincible, not always in control. He’s constantly battling his own demons, and that internal war plays out across Marshall-Green’s face in every quiet moment. He doesn’t have to say much to make you feel everything.

And then there’s Jodi Balfour as Joni, Mac’s wife. She delivers a performance that deserves just as much praise as Marshall-Green’s. Joni isn’t just the supportive spouse left waiting at home—she’s a fully realized character with her own complexities, secrets, and struggles. Their relationship is painfully real; you feel the tension, the love, the resentment simmering beneath the surface. Balfour brings an incredible warmth to the role, making Joni one of the most compelling parts of the show.

If Quarry had any justice, Damon Herriman’s Buddy would’ve become one of television’s most beloved (and feared) characters. Herriman brings an unexpected charm and depth to the role of a flamboyant, openly gay hitman working under The Broker. He’s the kind of character that could’ve easily been a cliché, but Herriman plays him with such a mix of humor, vulnerability, and menace that he becomes one of the most fascinating figures in the series.

And Peter Mullan? He’s terrifying. The Broker is a man who never needs to raise his voice to command a room. He always seems to know more than everyone else, always has the upper hand, and Mullan plays him with a quiet, controlled menace that makes every scene with him electric. He’s the puppet master, and Mac is just one of his many strings.

One thing I love about Quarry is how patient it is. It’s not a show that rushes into shootouts or car chases just to keep you entertained. It lets its characters breathe, lets the tension build, so when violence does erupt, it hits like a gut punch.

And speaking of action, Nuoc Chay Da Mon (Flowing Water Wears Away Stone, Ep. 8), an episode that features one of the most breathtaking action sequences I’ve ever seen on television. It’s a single-take assault that rivals anything in modern cinema. It’s brutal, immersive, and completely unforgettable.

But Quarry isn’t just about action. It’s about trauma, about how violence leaves scars that don’t heal. It explores themes of guilt, redemption, and the way war changes people. Mac isn’t a hero. He isn’t even really a villain. He’s just a man trying to survive in a world that’s given up on him.

If I have one gripe with Quarry, it’s that there’s only one season. Cinemax canceled it before it ever had the chance to properly develop, and that’s a damn shame. The show had so much potential, so many stories left to tell. The first season leaves a few threads hanging, teasing a future that never came.

But even though it ends too soon, I still tell people to watch it. Because even as a single season, it’s one of the best crime dramas I’ve ever seen.

If you love slow-burn storytelling, richly drawn characters, and a show that doesn’t just entertain but makes you feel something, Quarry is worth your time. It’s one of those rare shows that sticks with you for a long, long time.