The series follows Leanne, whose husband of 33 years abruptly abandons her, plunging her into singlehood, menopause, and modern dating, as she tries to keep her messy but loving Southern family from completely wrecking her.
Leanne Morgan has that voice that makes you feel like you're in a church basement, being offered banana pudding while someone spills a family secret. That's basically her new Netflix comedy, Leanne: warm, relatable, slightly chaotic, and filled with commentary that veers between relatable and painfully dated. It's the kind of show that makes you laugh because you've been there, only sometimes it forgets to be actually funny.
Stars: Leanne Morgan, Kristen Johnston, Blake Clark
The series opens with Leanne shocked by her husband's sudden departure. Thirty-three years of marriage, and he just walks away like she's poured too much salt on the meatloaf. What follows is a whirlwind of scenes where the now-single Leanne must figure out what it means to live without being someone's wife. She's a grandmother, menopausal, and slightly tired, but she refuses to settle down. The plot sells itself as if it's been reinvented, but the delivery often feels like it's been microwaved twice and served on a paper plate. There's charm, but it's often buried under sitcom clichés that should have disappeared with the flip phone.
Let's start with the good news. Leanne Morgan is magnetic. She doesn't try to be young, cool, or too smart. She's comfortable in her own skin and carries herself with a sincerity that doesn't come across as theatrical. Even when a joke seems ripped from a 2002 King of Queens revival, she delivers it with conviction. That commitment counts. She's surrounded by a cast that's clearly there to support her rise in the acting world. Kristen Johnston, who plays Leanne's bold, slightly over-the-top sister, Carol, is a walking mix of sarcasm, disaster, and heart. She's the kind of character who bursts into a room, affectionately insults everyone, and still manages to be the glue that binds half the scenes together. The dynamic between the two sisters is often the highlight of the show, when it doesn't veer into cartoonish fights or unresolved emotional whiplash.
And then there are the parents. Leanne's mother is the archetypal Southern matriarch, a bit judgmental, who loves Jesus and casseroles equally. Her father, generally quiet but occasionally popping up with the wisdom of a grandfather, oscillates between comic relief and set decoration. The rest of the family—the kids, the ex-husband, a couple of secondary neighbors—come and go with varying degrees of interest. Sometimes they get witty one-liners. Other times, they're like walking business cards.
And now, the real talk. The show desperately yearns to be the next comfort comedy, something you watch while folding laundry or escaping a tough day. But unlike the classics she tries to emulate, Leanne is in a deep slumber. Most episodes follow the same three-step routine: Leanne tries something new, it goes slightly wrong, she has a heart-to-heart with her sister or father, and she ends the day on the porch with a half-smile and a sigh. It's the kind of repetition that makes you wonder if the writers subjected the script to a Southern cliché generator.
The humor is where things start to fall apart. The laugh track doesn't so much accompany the jokes as try to resurrect them. You can almost hear the producer behind the scenes yelling "Laughter!" before every four lines. Some lines feel fresh, especially when Leanne taps into her stand-up comedy roots with observational quips about aging or parenting. But a good portion of the jokes are just... old. Not classic. Not timeless. Just tired. A joke about TikTok starring a grandmother might have been edgy five years ago, but now it's simply clinging to relevance.
Another issue is the pacing. For a show with such a rich emotional premise (abandonment, rediscovery, adult children, and menopause), it spends surprisingly little time exploring reality. There are brief moments where the facade falls away and a raw, honest moment from Leanne or Carol is presented, and those are electrifying. But just as quickly, the scene is hijacked by an awkward joke or plot detour about online dating that feels like it was written by someone who's never opened an app. It's as if the show is afraid of dwelling on its own sincerity too long, so it inserts an anecdote about chicken salad to avoid depth.
And despite focusing on Leanne's journey of self-discovery, the discovery part itself seems to be omitted. We're told she's changing, growing, healing. But all we see are new hairstyles, a brief flirtation with a man from her past, and a lot of stews. There's a lingering feeling that the show was created to sell empathy rather than truly explore it. At times, it feels like a self-help Instagram post disguised as a comedy.
Still, it's hard to get angry with Leanne. It's not offensive. It's not vulgar. It's not even particularly annoying. It's just… disappointing. A show with a friendly shrug. You won't hate watching it, but you probably won't remember it a week later, either. And maybe that's what Netflix intended: forgettable background noise with a comforting face.
Leanne Morgan deserves a platform that takes more risks with her talent. This feels like the version with training wheels. Maybe the second season will fine-tune the script, give the cast more substance to work with, and stop being afraid of its own emotional core. Until then, Leanne is fine, but in the same way that saltines are fine. You'll eat them. You just won't crave them.
Comments
Post a Comment