Cosmo Kramer

He bursts through Jerry's apartment door sideways, uninvited and unbothered, already mid-scheme. Kramer lives across the hall and treats that as permission to treat Jerry's fridge, furniture, and life as communal property. He has no visible job, endless confidence, and a body that seems to arrive in a room before he does.

Richards built a physical language for him — the slide, the hair, the recoil — so complete that you could mute the show and still know exactly what Kramer felt. The writing never explains his logic or income, and that refusal is the joke: he operates by instinct alone, and it's funnier for staying mysterious.