Netflix’s Leanne opens with a devastating loss. As the series gets underway, its eponymous heroine (played by Leanne Morgan) is just hours into processing the news that her husband, Bill (Ryan Stiles), has decided to leave her for another woman — thus upending the very foundation of the life she’s built over the past 33 years as his devoted wife, occasional business partner and doting mother of their two now-grown children.
Leanne, understandably, is furious and heartbroken. Leanne, however, feels anything but. Co-created by sitcom king Chuck Lorre with Morgan and Susan McMartin, the sitcom veers more sweet than bitter, more fizzy than heavy, more focused on the comedic possibilities of Leanne’s wide-open future than the poignant memories of her past. If it’s rarely hilarious, it’s pleasant in a sturdy, old-fashioned way, with a back-to-basics reliance on likable characters and approachable chemistry over topical jokes or formal experimentation.
Leanne
The Bottom Line
Few belly laughs, but plenty of good vibes.
Airdate: Thursday, Aug. 31 (Netflix)
Cast: Leanne Morgan, Kristen Johnson, Ryan Stiles, Celia Weston, Blake Clark, Graham Rogers, Hannah Pilkes
Creators: Susan McMartin, Chuck Lorre, Leanne Morgan
While not autobiographical — among other things, Morgan is not divorced — Leanne is built around the same down-home persona honed by its lead actress over years in standup. (Fans might recognize a few scenarios or turns of phrase carried over from specials like Netflix’s I’m Every Woman.)
Here as in that earlier material, Morgan’s appeal lies in a cheerfully self-deprecating, Southern-accented relatability that makes you want to pull up a chair in her suburban Tennessee kitchen — even if it’s just to listen to her monologue about everything from “tiny, hateful panties” of the sort a gal might wear to please a man, to an adorably diminutive ex-boyfriend, as she does in the premiere.
But Leanne brings more to the table than Morgan’s one-woman routine. On the receiving end of that rant is Carol, her twice-divorced former wild child of a little sister. Kristen Johnson (Lorre’s Mom) plays the character with an array of exaggerated facial expressions perfect for reaction shots, and a drier, blunter, more “cosmopolitan” (she used to live in Chicago, we’re frequently reminded) outlook to balance Leanne’s softer, folksier one.
Their warm, easy chemistry is the heart of the series, the thing that makes it simultaneously comforting and aspirational: Everyone should be so lucky to have a ride-or-die who’ll agree to age with you into the “eccentric sisters that all the neighborhood kids are afraid to go near,” and even kind of mean it.
As Leanne grapples to come to terms with her new reality, it’s Carol who becomes her shoulder to cry on, her cheerleader and, as Leanne gradually embraces singlehood, her romance coach. The concept of dating while menopausal may not be anything radical in a universe where … And Just Like That and The Golden Girls already exist — but then, Leanne isn’t really out to blaze new trails anyway. On the contrary, between its gentle humor, multi-cam setup and over-enthusiastic laugh track, this comedy is designed to feel like it could have aired anytime in the last three decades, give or take the occasional reference to Tinder or Ozempic.
That its throwback sensibility mostly comes off as classic rather than hoary is a testament to the competence of the seasoned cast and crew, as well as to Morgan’s confident lead turn. It helps, too, that the episodes never overstay their welcome, clocking in at around 20 minutes each in an era when “half-hour” streaming comedies have a habit of ballooning into 40-minute run times.
There are few gags in Leanne that you won’t have encountered some version of somewhere else already, and a few of its punchlines are so tepid that the audience’s giggles feel more like an act of generosity than a real, spontaneous reaction. But if a line like, “You think I’m going to crawl into a stranger’s bed and let him see all this?” doesn’t look like anything fresh on the page, the sincere horror with which Morgan delivers it makes it land nonetheless.
Leanne takes a light touch with heavy emotions. It never dwells so long on its protagonist’s grief that our sympathy sours into frustration, and makes a point of tempering its most earnestly sentimental beats with a playful, jokey button. But it treats her uncertainty about this new phase of life with dignity and compassion, giving her the space to be ungracious or angry or awkward along the way. Morgan’s never more hilarious, for example, than when she’s positively throwing herself at a new crush — but the storyline allows for moments of genuine grief as well, as when Leanne realizes that the time has finally come to take off her wedding ring for good.
Less consistent, as of the eight episodes (of 16) sent to critics, is the ensemble around her. Some make a splash right away. Besides Johnson, the clear MVP, Stiles instantly clicks into place as Bill, whose hangdog vibe makes him more pitiable than hatable, as does Tim Daly as an FBI agent who takes an interest (professional and otherwise) in Leanne. In a recurring role, Jayma Mays is a hoot as Leanne’s nosy neighbor, who can’t resist following up a reassuring “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of” with a passive-aggressive “even though it’s understandable why you’d be ashamed.”
On the other hand, Celia Weston and Blake Clark are fun but underused as Leanne’s parents, while appearances by Graham Rogers and Hannah Pilkes as Leanne’s kids are so irregular and one-note they barely make any impression at all. But it’s not unusual for a comedy cast to take some time to gel, and given how well-oiled the rest of the production feels, there’s every reason to be optimistic these characters will come into sharper focus eventually.
At that point, perhaps the series will be able to tap into a greater potential, deepening its exploration of Leanne’s vulnerabilities while landing jokes that actually provoke full-belly laughs and not just indulgent smiles. Or maybe it won’t, and that’ll be okay too. As it is, Leanne is the TV equivalent of the friend who’s never gonna take you out for the craziest night of your life, but who can be relied upon to bring over a bottle of wine and settle into the couch for some cute anecdotes and an occasionally earnest bit of advice. In other words, it’s simply a nice hang.
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