They say no one wins when the family feuds. Maybe not, but the bestseller lists, box office, and streaming would like a word. Anything that makes us yell, “mommy, daddy, don’t!” with our faces only partially covered and a grin on our lips, has a good chance of winning us over. There’s the vitriolic fallout of 2019’s “Marriage Story” and the crown jewel of marital enmity, “The War of the Roses,” as proof.
These are influential stories, but life is their inspiration. When a marriage decays, it can turn catastrophically bad. We all know it, many of us have seen it, and others have written about it. The challenge is coming at it in a new way to recontextualize a weaponized marriage—so we don’t forget to treat each other better. In 2013, Manuel Gonzales released the collection “The Miniature Wife: and Other Stories,” and created an inspired metaphor. A scientist specializing in miniaturization shrinks his wife. Or as he describes it, “The truth of the matter is: I have managed to make my wife very, very small.” And that’s the point; he needed to make her small to make himself feel big.”
With a concept this incisive, it’s no wonder it captured the imaginations of executive producers and co-stars Elizabeth Banks and Matthew Macfadyen, alongside showrunners Jennifer Ames and Steve Turner, from the production company Media Res. And so, here we have a 10-episode dark dramedy about “the power (im)balances between spouses.”
“The Miniature Wife” has a setup that begs you to pay attention. I did. That decision is dubious; come with me and decide for yourself. Based on the somewhat “Roses”-reimagined short story by Gonzales, the series version of “The Miniature Wife” expands the characters and their hijinks. Lindy (Banks) is now a Pulitzer Prize-winning author and professor who’s in a slump. Les (Macfadyen) is her Nobel-chasing husband who specializes in agricultural advances. They have a disgruntled daughter, Lulu (Sofia Rosinsky), and one—in some ways both—of them has an ardent lover in Richie (O-T Fagbenle). During an argument, Lindy is accidentally shrunken down to 6 inches tall, and life, careers, and parenthood get complicated. The marriage itself was already in shambles.
Picture me flailing, attempting to encapsulate my reactions. Satirical absurdism is likely the best way to categorize this show. Logic is not in the building. Yet I found myself searching for an internal logic that would make the self-destruct button inside this world work. For most of the first five episodes of “The Miniature Wife,” I kept asking the characters, “Why would you do that?“ The only answer I found was “BIG emotions.” And when your work, homelife, or the past make you feel small, big emotions are your wrecking ball. Apparently, they are also a superpower because some of these characters do things that should be physically impossible. Yes, even though this is a world where people get shrunken down to cake-topper size, I need some form of mechanics to immerse myself in the fantastical.
This is an era of women’s psychological thrillers, and although “The Miniature Wife” is listed as a dramedy, it has the same beats as a thriller. That’s a good thing. I’ve always been a fan of what a story is trying to say: what are the themes beyond the plot?
The main theme examines how women are often made to shrink next to men who need them to be less in order to feel powerful. That’s an easy one. As a result, the secondary theme highlights how women become adept at navigating environments designed to make things difficult for them. Love that. The third theme is about the problematic catalyst of narcissism x tiny minds. When those two traits collide, nothing is safe. Confidently climbing territory like that, this Peacock series has something to say, and the characters are legitimately propelled into change. But, gosh, it annoyed me most of the time. I enjoy a heaping pile of science-fiction pandemonium, but this might not be my brand of absurdist satire.
From the leads through to Ronny Chieng’s ‘demon’ investor and Zoe Lister-Jones’ boss-chick in a power suit, these are catastrophically arrogant characters who are nowhere near as brilliant as they think, while still being brilliant. At least in their work. Not so much in their lives. Even with truly engaging character work by everyone in the cast—especially Fagbenle, Rosinsky, Sian Clifford as Lindy’s neurotic but liberated literary agent, and Tricia Black—halfway through, I wanted to stop watching. Wait, I can’t forget about the Shirtless Man—he may have been my favorite, not because he’s shirtless, but because he’s direct and perceptive. What was I saying? Oh yes, at the end of Episode 8, my one-word review would have been “Tedious.”
Here’s the surprise: “The Miniature Wife” didn’t leave me cold. The characters take us through an array of emotions. Mostly I wanted them to implode—demonstratively—but that’s NOT nothing. In this world, the main characters seek validation through the adoration of the masses; nothing else matters to them. They must be praised, or they are nothing. The question becomes, can they evolve before they destroy themselves and each other?
With that in mind, before the finale lands, we are rewarded with “JANET RENO” – Episode 109, a full-blown romcom complete with runaways, revelations, and multiple stabbings—that’s not a spoiler. You won’t have any idea what I mean until it happens. Weirdly, like with “Vladimir” before it, the denouement makes “The Miniature Wife” worth the ride. Episode 9 is a Hail Mary that pulls you back in for a somewhat satisfying final Episode 10. An ending that’s very much like “The War of the Roses”—I’m just not telling you which version.
Whole season screened for review. Streams April 9 on Peacock.
