Warning: The following contains slight spoilers for Season 1 of Shrinking. If you're not caught up yet, you can check out our spoiler-free review of Shrinking Season 1 here.
Shrinking, which just wrapped up its first season today on Apple TV+, managed to mine comedy gold from themes of extreme loss and grief, in a manner that may even help those viewers struggling with their own personal dark patches.
From Bill Lawrence (creator of Scrubs, co-creator of Cougar Town and Ted Lasso), star Jason Segel (who's an expert now at hilarious melancholy), and Brett Goldstein (star of, and writer for, Ted Lasso), Shrinking joins a long list of TV comedies that start with a catchy hook, to nab the wandering eye, and then softly dissolve into a hang show, where the characters merely exist and you enjoy spending time with them regardless of how it connects to the original premise. New Girl, Happy Endings, and the aforementioned Cougar Town all live in this special arena, while new blood Shrinking joins their ranks with a killer ensemble that will make your day while healing your soul.
In most cases, "comfort TV" is unchallenging and not designed to explore deep emotions, but Shrinking's evolution through the course of its first season, from storm clouds to shining skies, is a cathartic journey in its own right, providing consolation and reassurance that allows viewers to experience hope and joy. As Ted Lasso, which shares creative forces here, touches on mental health (and its own versions of loss with Ted's divorce) Shrinking grabs the ball and runs with it, focusing on a therapist (Segel's Jimmy) who is at rock bottom following the death of his wife. So much so that he's become an absent father to his daughter (Lukita Maxwell's Alice), who must deal, in a way, with losing both parents.
The rest of the cast is built out with effortlessly amazing performers, all playing characters dealing with heavy shit — from Jimmy's therapist co-workers Gaby (Jessica Williams) and Paul (Harrison Ford) to a PTSD-stricken patient, Sean (Luke Tennie). Everyone has their own mountain to climb, and while Shrinking definitely embraces conflict and dramatic reveals, it's also imbued with the quick-wit and fast chatter you get from other Bill Lawrence shows. When you combine that type of banter with themes of trauma and repair, it's pretty miraculous. You wind up with a series you can't wait to return to — a world you long to spend time in — which you wouldn’t expect from a series dealing with serious psychological hurdles and a central character in the midst of a grief spiral.
Shrinking's "hook" involves Jimmy, wallowing in hopelessness, deciding to straight-shoot with his patients. "What if your therapist just said what they were really thinking about you?" is the comedic question asked here, which wisely gets sidelined (though never fully forgotten) since it's only enough, perhaps, to fuel a movie but not a series. By the middle of the season, this aspect is far less important than the bonds shared by the oddball collection of friends, neighbors, and found family that the series has gathered together and Jimmy's hazardous approach to his job is relegated to merely being one more thing Jimmy is mucking up. It's just a symptom of his larger issues.
In the season finale, "Closure," Shrinking shines brightly with its unconventional brand of awkward catharsis and healing. Michael Urie's friend-to-all Brian is getting hitched to Charlie, and it stands as a huge test for Jimmy to preside over their ceremony without breaking down in anguish. And, while there are story stakes involved for all — Paul reconciling with his estranged daughter, getting Brian's father to agree to his best man at his son's gay wedding, Gaby realizing she might have feelings for Jimmy — what sticks with you is the adorable connectivity of the characters and how they all relate to each other in different ways.
You watch because of Paul's oldest-relates-to-youngest scenes with Alice. Because of Gaby and over-involved empty nester Liz (Christa Miller) going from prickly to pals. And because of Ted McGinley's Derek just being the best with everyone. No matter what world they come from, Jimmy's close circle, which formed in part due to the fallout of his wife's passing, is the draw in whatever combination the story presents them in. And that's the classic sitcom element here that provides the warm and fuzzies. No matter the turmoil, these have to be people you want to visit with. And if the show is about broken hearts and lost souls then you still have to have characters that make you want to stick around after hearts are mended and and healing has begun.
Shrinking, which by the end of the season could be called Growing based on the strides made by the characters, has more stories to tell and trauma to sift through going forward, but it's reached an important watermark for a hang show which is that we're all in it now because of the gang. Jimmy was the nucleus, and our "in," but he doesn't have to be. Even Harrison Ford's Paul — where Ford utilizes his curmudgeonly persona for top-tier laughs (making for the best thing he's done in decades) — who's presented as a brick wall of emotions early in the season is an old crank you wind up wanting to share a pack of Fun Dip with.
By the way, you kind of don't know you need to see Harrison Ford in a Bill Lawrence comedy until you see it. And then you're mad you didn't get it sooner.
As we all emerge from the past few years with an avalanche of untreated distress and unaddressed pain, I submit that televisual comfort can be found here, with Shrinking, and characters truly going through it. Instead of tuning out with something unscripted give this series a whirl. Even though part of its DNA involves facing down uncomfortable and regrettable parts of life, Shrinking's found a way to laugh through the tears and craft a cul de sac if misfits you'll find super therapeutic.
source https://www.ign.com/articles/shrinking-how-grief-created-the-best-new-hangout-comedy