‘M.I.A.’ Review: Ozark Goes Tropical in This Wild Florida Crime Saga

You can take plenty of shots at Bill Dubuque, but one thing is hard to deny: the man knows how to tell a story. As was already clear in Ozark, he may not be the most subtle, elegant, or even believable crime writer out there, but he has a real command of serialized storytelling mechanics. That show, starring Jason Bateman and Laura Linney, was wildly implausible if you stopped to think about it for more than a minute—yet it was also completely addictive. Dubuque knows how to grab the viewer by the throat and drag them wherever he wants.

M.I.A. isn’t Ozark, and it doesn’t really try to be, but it operates with that same instinct. Dubuque’s new series doesn’t (at least for now) have the cast or the weight of that earlier hit, but it knows how to pull you through its criminal maze. In fact, especially at the beginning, the parallels are pretty obvious: a family tangled up in crime, dangerous drug traffickers circling, the law closing in, and—at the center of it all—a character who gets pushed into a life of crime almost against her will. The twist here is that the protagonist is a young woman from Florida who should be off at college, but instead finds herself trying to take down an entire drug operation.

The story revolves around Etta Tiger Jonze (Shannon Gisela), a South Florida girl whose family owns fishing boats that double as drug-running vessels. Her mother wants her—clearly the smartest of the siblings—to stay away from the “family business” and go study somewhere far away. But Etta, who already works taking tourists out on risky excursions, has a taste for adrenaline. It’s not long before she’s joining her father and her five siblings (two brothers among them) in the operation.

Things spiral quickly. Just as she’s getting involved, the cartel’s aging boss, Isaac (played by the legendary Edward James Olmos), dies, leaving the business to his sons and his consigliere (Maurice Compte, Gerardo Celasco, and Alberto Guerra). They’re far more ruthless than their predecessor and start squeezing the Jonze family for bigger profits, something that doesn’t sit well with Etta’s father, Dan. After a deal goes catastrophically wrong (and yes, end-of-episode-one spoilers apply), the cartel unleashes brutal violence on the family. Etta is forced to run, hide, survive—and eventually, to seek revenge against the people who destroyed her life.

And that’s the show in a nutshell: a sharp, highly capable 21-year-old with a near-photographic memory, hunting down the narcos who turned her into a fugitive and forced her to reinvent herself. Along the way, she’s joined by a handful of key allies, including her friend Lovely, a Haitian immigrant (Brittany Adebumola), and Lovely’s brother Stanley (Dylan Jackson), who is somewhat neurodivergent and obsessed with yacht rock. Another potential anchor in Etta’s life is her aunt Carmen (Danay García), her mother’s twin sister—a powerful figure who might be able to help, though Etta barely knows her.

Meanwhile, the cartel is busy laundering money through real estate schemes (with Sonia Braga popping up briefly in a key role), while a private investigator (Cary Elwes) starts poking around, trying to piece together what’s going on. M.I.A.—a nickname for Miami that also doubles as the military acronym for “Missing in Action”—gradually takes shape as a strange hybrid: part Ozark, part Scarface, part Florida-set Latin American telenovela. It leans heavily on local color, music, and the city’s immigrant fabric, mixing in some fresh touches but also relying quite a bit on familiar clichés.

Let’s be honest: very little of this is actually believable. But it works anyway. At times it’s brutal—there are scenes you’ll want to watch through your fingers. At others, it’s unexpectedly funny, often thanks to the Haitian siblings. And throughout, there’s a constant sense that this is a world where anything can happen and no one is ever really safe. Like a novel by Elmore Leonard or Carl Hiaasen—but without their gift for razor-sharp dialogue—M.I.A. isn’t chasing prestige or awards the way Ozark did, with its big-name cast and heavy dramatic beats. It’s going for something more visceral, more immediate. And it pulls you along for the ride, whether you buy it or not.