There are few things as universal, as relatable, as the idea of being cut down to size. If I told you that I’d had an interaction with someone—a boss, a relative, a particularly tyrannical bathroom attendant at the local Chuck E. Cheese—that left me feeling about two inches tall, you would, of course, understand exactly what I meant.
And perhaps relatability was the aim of The Miniature Wife, a new series that landed on Peacock last week. The show stars Elizabeth Banks as Lindy Littlejohn, a Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist who gets accidentally miniaturized by her scientist husband, Les. The problem, which is standard-issue in stories like these, is that the technology only functions properly in one direction—which is to say, every time Les tries to restore a miniaturized object to its original size, it explodes.
Lindy’s accident (although, as Les admits later, it was more like accidentally-on-purpose) comes at a symbolically laden moment. Although Lindy’s first novel became a bestseller, she wrote it 20 years ago—and ever since, she has been, well, shrinking. Away from the spotlight, away from her work, into the small and wholly unappreciated role of Midwesterner, mother, and supportive spouse to a husband who wants (and, after the way he supported her, arguably deserves) his turn to shine. When she screams, “Make me big again,” it can be understood as both a literal request as well as a professional, even existential, cri de coeur.
