Harrison Ford’s grumpy, prickly character has always been central to the equation of “Shrinking,” but the third season shows him taking an even more prominent role within the show’s landscape. The latest season shows Paul dealing with his Parkinson’s disease diagnosis, which would soon prevent him from performing his usual duties as a wise therapist. It brings a darker tone to his arc than the previous seasons, as he grapples with the inevitability of fate while growing past the overbearing weight of his regrets. Yet, the show never succumbs to its melancholy to a degree that it would lose its light-hearted, cheerful spirit. It finds an ideal balance between the tragic and the comic.
Tonal balance has always been the quiet strength of this show, which began as a tragicomedy about a grieving therapist trying to help his patients while struggling to help himself. Jason Segel charmingly led that ship as Jimmy, the sweet, sentimental protagonist whose self-absorption, paired with self-destructive behaviour, strained his relationship with Alice (Lukita Maxwell), his teenage daughter, who was also silently struggling with grief. After gradually mending their bond and building one with Louis (Brett Goldstein), he showed his willingness and capability for growth beyond simply advocating for it for his patients.
The third season shows Alice emotionally far more mature and malleable than Jimmy. His sensitivity and self-preservation are put under the microscope, making him step out of his comfort zone while dealing with his unresolved daddy issues. Of course, that leaves us with watching a 40-something man getting comfortable with struggles others may have done so in their youth, but the show has always been self-aware about such details, whether it has to do with age, race, gender, or sexuality. Yet, for a project where ‘lessons’ play such a major role, it carefully avoided being preachy, boastful, or self-serious.
Even the third season offers plenty of wholesome lessons that we would want to adapt to be better individuals, but they never burden the narration with their presence. There are moments when the show’s white characters learn a thing or two from black characters, men learn from women, so on and so forth. Yet, much of it fits organically within the ongoing arcs instead of sticking like a sore thumb.
Besides, instead of making characters speak like our ideas about their ideal selves, it lets them be at least occasionally flawed, whether immature, impatient, or inconsiderate, which feels closer to life. It also restates how emotional growth is an eternal process, not a neatly structured narrative leading to a moment of smug clarity.
It shows up in Jimmy and Paul’s arcs, with Jimmy learning to give himself another shot at a happy life with Sofi (Cobie Smulders), while Paul learning not to let the diagnosis dictate his life. No matter how different they seem on the surface, there’s always been an overlap between their arcs as absent fathers trying to be more present for their daughters. The new season expands on that front while simultaneously analyzing their interpersonal relationship as colleagues, guide-pupil, and father-son. The humor is still there and as fresh as before, but there’s so much heart and passion put into the direction and performances that you would feel for them as you would for people in your actual life.
That’s often the case with similar ensemble-led comedy shows, but “Shrinking” avoids most of their annoying mistakes. The usual trick is resorting to fan service, which may show up through endlessly regurgitated catch-phrases, predictable, or contrived notes. Other times, it has to do with relying heavily on the audience’s established interests in the show’s nature or tone.
Ted Lasso’s third season faced a similar issue, where the decision to flesh out every conceivable character’s psyche led to a messy, disjointed season with laughs relying largely on its well-established, endearing tone. Unlike that, Shrinking’s third season uses our knowledge of its characters for inventively funny moments instead of resorting to usual tricks, barring rare exceptions.
It also doesn’t run into any major character-related issues despite developing every central character’s arc within its 11-episode span. There’s one beat in Sean’s (Luke Tennie) arc that feels almost like a deus ex machina, where a character appears in his life just when he realizes what he wants from his romantic relationships. Yet, Tennie’s performance and the overall execution make it plausible. There’s hardly any moment that doesn’t fit organically within the show’s sweet and comforting tone, and the credit goes to the creator trio, Goldstein, Segel, and Bill Lawrence, alongside a reliable cast.
The reason many people, including me, gravitate toward this show is its soothingly cathartic nature, where you’re introduced to nuggets of wisdom through a set of flawed but good-spirited characters. The third season doesn’t disappoint on that front while reinventing its wheel. Jessica Williams, who has always been the heart of the show as maturely upbeat Gaby, gets those heartening and reflective moments in her professional life, even though her romantic arc with the other Derek feels quite underdeveloped and generic, and leaves you wanting more.
Liz (Christa Miller) and Derek (Ted McGinley) get much richer arcs than before, with parenthood being the thematic focus in this new season. Unlike before, when they felt like supporting pillars and an oddball pair of comic relief, this season offers them a much-deserved character work, which both actors do justice to.
Moreover, Jimmy’s impending anguish as an empty nester is just as effectively conveyed as his budding romance with Sofi. Although Smulders is new to the cast, it’s a joy to see her on screen with Segel, riffing with him while playing a fellow goofball adult. Sherry Cola, Jeff Daniels, and Michael J. Fox are welcome additions to the cast, especially Fox, whose captivating presence is worthy of at least a guest actor nod coming year.
Yet, Ford’s quietly devastating turn is probably the most impressive part of this season, alongside his scenes with Fox. If you’re just as obsessed with Ford’s wry comedic style as I am, there’s enough of that in this new season. There’s also a tragic intensity to his performance that doesn’t demand your attention through heightened display (as his larger-than-life roles do), but lingers like a haunting note. That’s why, even if you come to watch the younger characters find a footing, you leave with a pang because of Ford’s perfectly pitched, bittersweet performance.
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