Big Mistakes review: Dan Levy's family comedy is a messy mix that mostly works

There are, broadly speaking, two types of television: the kind that creates stars, and the kind made by stars who have already arrived. The former is the lightning-in-a-bottle magic of an ensemble of unknowns – think Bridgerton or The Bear – while the latter represents the high-stakes "difficult second project" of a freshly minted icon.

Dan Levy, the architect of the globally adored Schitt’s Creek, has spent the last few years navigating that heavy mantle. After a quiet, melancholic detour into film with Good Grief, audiences were left wondering if he would ever return to the sharp, chaotic familial energy that made him a household name.

With Big Mistakes, currently streaming on Netflix, that question isn’t just answered – it’s shouted from the rooftops of a suburban New Jersey church. Co-created with Rachel Sennott, the series finds Levy trading the designer sweaters of David Rose for the stiff collars of a small-town pastor named Nicky.

But beneath the pious exterior lies a familiar, wonderful brand of Levy-led dysfunction. Nicky is a man living a double life, hiding a secret boyfriend from his nosy congregation and an even noisier family, only to find himself entangled in a crime caper that feels like a fever dream born from a mid-life crisis.

The premise quickly establishes a tense, often cringe-worthy atmosphere reminiscent of Levy’s previous work, but with a darker edge. The story kicks off with a classic, cringeworthy domino effect. Under the suffocating pressure of his emotionally high-strung mother, Linda (played with terrifying brilliance by Laurie Metcalf), Nicky and his sister Morgan (Taylor Ortega) set out to find a trinket for their dying grandmother.

When a shopkeeper refuses to sell them a suspiciously shiny necklace, the impulse-driven Morgan simply takes it, or rather steals it. It is a small, petty theft that spirals into a survival game when they realise the jewellery isn't a costume – it's very real, and very much the property of a local crime syndicate.

The brilliance of Big Mistakes doesn't actually lie in the "organised crime" of it all. In fact, the thriller elements – the chases and the generic thugs – often feel like the weakest link, standing on shaky logic. Why such a valuable asset was sitting in a gift shop is a question the screenplay chooses to ignore in favour of getting to the good stuff: the bickering. Where the show truly sings is in the claustrophobic, hilariously abrasive chemistry of the central trio.

Levy and Ortega capture that specific brand of adult sibling regression perfectly. One moment they are facing down death, and the next they are squabbling over childhood grievances or mocking their mother’s disastrous mayoral campaign. Ortega, as the sharp-tongued middle child, is a revelation. She plays Morgan with a tragicomic edge – a woman who feels she has done nothing of note in her life and thus finds a warped sense of purpose in the chaos.

Metcalf, meanwhile, is a masterclass in controlled chaos. As Linda, she vibrates with a particular kind of parental anxiety that feels painfully authentic. She isn’t just a "nagging mother"; she is a woman clinging to her children as her own life and political ambitions fray at the edges. The jerky camerawork and an abrasive, pulsing score heighten this domestic tension, making a dinner table argument feel significantly more dangerous than a confrontation with a mobster.

What grounds the series is its heart. Levy delivers a remarkably understated performance, portraying Nicky’s quiet struggle with his faith and identity with a dignity that avoids the usual tropes. There is a genuine, flickering warmth in his interactions with his secret partner, Tareq, which provides a necessary breather from the relentless cringe of the main plot.

Big Mistakes is far from a perfect production. It is messy, occasionally implausible, and leans heavily on a "blindsiding" twist that feels more like a bridge to a second season than a natural conclusion.

However, as an exploration of the people who know exactly how to push our buttons because they helped install them, it is a triumph. It feels human, lived-in, and delightfully British in its cynical wit. It reminds us that while we can’t choose our family, we can certainly choose to make terrible, hilarious decisions with them.

If you are looking for a weekend binge that feels like a middle-class Succession with more heart and fewer private jets, this is it.