TL;DR: Dan Levy’s follow-up to Schitt’s Creek trades wholesome small-town charm for a delightfully unhinged New Jersey crime thriller that blends sibling chaos, family trauma, and escalating felonies with sharp wit and grounded performances. Led by standout turns from Levy, Taylor Ortega, and especially Laurie Metcalf, Big Mistakes delivers binge-worthy suspense, relatable millennial dread, and heartfelt moments that make its big mistakes feel strangely lovable. It’s not the cozy comfort watch its predecessor was, but it’s twice as addictive and leaves you desperately wanting more. Stream it on Netflix now, just maybe not right before family dinner.
Big Mistakes
I still remember the exact moment I finished the finale of Schitt’s Creek back in 2020. I was sprawled on my couch in Dubai, sweat sticking to the leather because the AC had given up during a brutal summer heatwave, and I was ugly-crying into a pillow while David Rose finally got his happy ending. Ten years later, Dan Levy is back on my screen with something that feels like the chaotic evil twin of that beloved sitcom, and I’m here to tell you: Big Mistakes on Netflix is the kind of gloriously messy, anxiety-fueled ride that had me pausing every five minutes just to text my group chat “this is my family but with felonies.”
Let me set the scene the way only a fellow TV obsessive can. We’re talking eight tight episodes that somehow cram more escalating disasters than most prestige dramas manage in a full season. Where Schitt’s Creek wrapped its dysfunctional Roses in a warm, fuzzy blanket of small-town redemption, Big Mistakes rips that blanket off, douses it in gasoline, and sets it on fire while the Morelli family from New Jersey argues over who forgot to bring the marshmallows. It’s a crime thriller dressed in comedy clothing, or maybe a family dramedy that accidentally wandered into a heist movie. Either way, it works in ways I didn’t expect, and it left me buzzing with that rare post-binge feeling where I immediately wanted to rewatch just to catch all the tiny details I missed while my jaw was on the floor.
The premise sounds deceptively simple, the kind of logline you’d pitch after three espressos: aimless siblings Nicky and Morgan shoplift a diamond necklace for their dying grandmother and accidentally tumble headfirst into New Jersey’s organized crime scene. But oh, fellow geeks, the execution is anything but simple. Levy, who co-created the series with Rachel Sennott (yes, the same razor-sharp mind behind Shiva Baby), flips the Schitt’s Creek formula inside out. Instead of wealthy outsiders learning humility in a quirky town, we get ordinary small-town folks whose every well-intentioned screw-up spirals into something bigger, darker, and funnier than they could ever imagine. It’s like if the Roses had stayed in the city but decided to launder money instead of running a motel. The tonal tightrope walk here is insane, balancing laugh-out-loud sibling bickering with genuine suspense and moments of raw millennial dread that hit way too close to home.
At the center of this beautiful mess are Dan Levy as Nicky and Taylor Ortega as Morgan. Levy dials down the theatrical flair that made David Rose an icon and gives us a quietly devastating portrait of an eldest son who’s a local pastor trying to keep everyone happy while hiding his own life. Nicky’s queerness isn’t played for broad laughs or heavy-handed drama; it’s woven into the fabric of his everyday existence with such nuance that it feels lived-in. There’s this one scene where he’s gently correcting his father about not saying “a gay” that had me laughing through a lump in my throat because it captured that specific mix of affection, exhaustion, and quiet resilience so perfectly. Ortega, meanwhile, is a revelation as Morgan. She’s the sarcastic middle child who shoplifts the necklace that kicks everything off, and she plays the role with this magnetic blend of self-sabotage and desperate hope. You want to shake her, hug her, and then watch her talk her way out of another disaster all at once. Their chemistry crackles like siblings who’ve been finishing each other’s sentences (and sentences) since birth, and their escalating criminal misadventures form the addictive backbone of the season.
But the real MVP might just be Laurie Metcalf as their mother Linda. I’ve been a Metcalf stan since Roseanne reruns, but she elevates Linda into something transcendent here. She’s the micromanaging Gen X/Boomer-cusp single mom we all recognize from family gatherings, the one who can make you feel guilty and loved in the same breath. Metcalf layers so much vulnerability beneath the nagging that even when Linda is driving her kids up the wall, you can’t help but root for her. Abby Quinn as the obnoxiously perfect younger sister Natalie is the perfect foil, bringing Type-A energy that masks her own insecurities while launching Linda’s mayoral campaign. The way the show intercuts the siblings’ crime spree with the family’s political ambitions creates this brilliant parallel structure that feels both absurd and strangely relatable. It’s like watching two different versions of the American Dream collide in the same living room.
The supporting cast rounds out this world with texture that makes every corner of their New Jersey town feel alive. Elizabeth Perkins as the no-nonsense real estate mogul Annette brings that signature intensity, while Jack Innanen’s Max, Morgan’s trust-fund man-child boyfriend, somehow manages to be both infuriating and weirdly endearing. Jacob Gutierrez as Nicky’s secret boyfriend Tareq adds layers of quiet tension around hidden identities and small-town expectations that never feel preachy. Every character, even the low-level criminals they tangle with, gets treated with this underlying empathy that reminds you everyone is just trying their best, even when their best looks like a series of spectacularly bad decisions.
What really sets Big Mistakes apart is how it captures that specific flavor of millennial/gen-Z anxiety wrapped in dark comedy. The humor comes from the audacity of it all, the way these perfectly ordinary people keep annoying their way through increasingly dangerous situations. There are moments that feel straight out of a Coen brothers movie if the Coens grew up watching Schitt’s Creek and Succession on repeat. The show isn’t afraid to sit in discomfort, holding up a mirror to awkward family dynamics, generational trauma, and the fear that you’re somehow responsible for all your own problems while still finding humor in the sheer ridiculousness of it. It’s Succession if the Roys were middle-class New Jersey folks fighting over PTA meetings and diamond heists instead of billion-dollar empires. The pacing is relentless in the best way, each episode ending on a cliffhanger that makes you slam the “next episode” button like your life depends on it.
Visually, the series leans into a grounded, almost documentary-like realism that makes the escalating chaos feel even more unhinged. The New Jersey locations, from the modest family home to the seedy backrooms where deals go down, ground the story in a tangible world that contrasts beautifully with the wild plot turns. The score mixes tense thriller beats with these oddly hopeful little motifs that underscore the family bonds at the heart of everything. It’s technical choices like these that elevate Big Mistakes from “fun watch” to “something I’ll be thinking about for weeks.”
By the time the season finale hits its full-circle moment, I was genuinely surprised at how satisfying it felt while still leaving the door wide open for more. The way all the puzzle pieces click together, blending the criminal underworld with the mayoral campaign in ways that feel both inevitable and shocking, had me yelling at my screen in the best possible way. It’s the kind of ending that rewards careful viewing while promising even bigger stakes if Netflix greenlights that second season we all desperately need.
Big Mistakes isn’t always an easy watch. Some of the more unflinching moments lean hard into anxiety and dread, refusing to look away from the messiness of family and the consequences of our choices. But that discomfort is balanced by a genuine sense of hope and humor that threads through every episode. It reminds us that even when we’re making big mistakes, the people who love us, flaws and all, are usually right there in the trenches with us. Dan Levy and Rachel Sennott have crafted something that feels both wildly entertaining and deeply human, a crime thriller that doubles as a love letter to complicated families everywhere.
If you loved the heart of Schitt’s Creek but crave something with sharper edges and higher stakes, Big Mistakes is your next obsession. It’s funny, suspenseful, uncomfortable, and ultimately hopeful in ways that sneak up on you. I binged the whole season in one sweaty Dubai night, and I haven’t stopped recommending it since.
