A breezy show about three women navigating divorce, friendship, and work in South Carolina abounds in margaritas and its role as comfort food TV.
weet Magnolias, a breezy Netflix series about three best friends somewhere outside of Charleston, South Carolina, is a show that knows the potential – and limits – of its ingredients. Created by Sheryl J Anderson and based on the series of novels by Sherryl Woods, it stars three steadily working but not well-known actors, whose episodic orbit is not the local coffee shop or bar but the couch, weekly margarita in hand. There, they extoll the messes of their lives (balance, jobs, motherhood) which, in real life, can be overwhelming; here, it’s mixed with light tea-spilling, perfectly coiffed hair and expertly mixed drinks.
It is, in other words, incredibly low-stakes television, a streamlined version of Lifetime or CW (think Hart of Dixie) content, the enjoyment of which depends, like their staple margaritas, on one’s personal pressure release valve and tolerance. Kicking back with it feels indulgent and mindless, an easy slide into a binge, syrupy with enough tart to keep it moving. It can range from pre-bottled to slightly distinct but is still what it is: unpretentious, with all the requisite parts, a balm for some and too “rosé all day” for others.
Sweet Magnolias takes place in a self-contained town where everyone knows each other, all hardships are personal, and all flaws are ultimately redeemed. Naturally, it’s called Serenity, and its focal point is a charming but taste-signifying restaurant owned and operated by chef Dana Sue (Brooke Elliott), who grew up in the town with best friends Helen (Heather Headley) and Maddie (Joanna Garcia Swisher). In keeping with the town name, Sweet Magnolias eschews melodrama for more down-to-earth, mundane struggles; the most explosive scandal – Maddie’s doctor husband, Bill (Chris Klein, literally straining through a southern accent), having an affair and impregnating a nurse, Noreen (Jamie-Lynn Spears, also straining, though that’s beside the point), and breaking up the family – takes place before the first episode, which opens with their divorce proceedings.
Instead, the series ambles from Maddie’s indignation to recovery in the arms of her friends, who endeavor to somehow renovate a beloved old home into a women-only “spa” (wellness center) in a month or so. The project allows each woman to demonstrate satisfying competency – Helen as a no-holds-barred lawyer, Dana Sue as a perfectionist chef, Maddie as an event planner balancing caring for her of two teenage sons and a young daughter – with small, absorbing complications.
Their kids, meanwhile, also wade through what feel surprisingly like grounded high school drama, not the trauma of Euphoria or craziness of Outer Banks but more mundane mortifications: getting too drunk once at a party, the post-life of a too-vulnerable text, dealing with parents upset with your grades. The Magnolia’s children – Maddie’s sons Tyler (Carson Rowland) and Kyle (Logan Allen) and Dana Sue’s Annie (Anneliese Judge) – also, refreshingly, look like they’re actually 15.
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