It’s Not Like That Series Premiere Review: Scott Foley’s Vulnerability Grounds This Comfort Watch

Critic’s Rating: 4.2 / 5.0

4.2

It’s Not Like That is the type of show you want to curl up and escape into.

The series wastes no time at all immersing us into the lives of Malcolm and Lori and their beautiful, messy, and real families, and by the end of It’s Not Like That Season 1 Episode 1, the show’s charm and warmth were irresistible.

It’s something that carries over into It’s Not Like That Season 1 Episode 2 as well.

From the talent behind Parenthood, it’s no wonder the series captures modern-day family drama so well. I’d even argue that it could be instrumental in ushering in a resurgence of the genre.

Across broadcast, cable, and streaming, it’s not a secret that we’ve been lacking multigenerational family dramas. And It’s Not Like that has the vibes of Sweet Magnolias and the late and great Friday Night Lights with its ability to organically tackle life’s issues: grief, loneliness, divorce, and faith.

Faith, in particular, stands out.

Though It’s Not Like That is considered a faith-based series, it never feels alienating or exclusionary. Its warmth, inspiration, and sincerity are refreshing, and Malcolm’s message as a pastor at Grace Community Church makes one thing abundantly clear: everyone is welcome.

In an age where Christianity often feels distorted or weaponized, it’s genuinely comforting to watch flawed, diverse, well-meaning people simply trying to navigate life while holding onto a sliver of faith.

The premiere goes at warp speed and suffers from a bit of pilotitis as they dump so much exposition to lay the groundwork for what’s to come.

It’s nearly a year since Malcolm’s wife died from cancer, a few months since he stood in the pulpit, and Lori has been divorced for a few months, too.

A lot has happened in that near year, and it’s evident in how all the children are at varying stages of their lives, trying to navigate complex issues.

But what’s apparent is that in Jenny’s absence, Malcolm and Lori have not just become each other’s best friends, but each other’s lifelines.

Their friendship is genuinely sweet, and Foley and Hayes have such a natural chemistry that it’s easy to believe that these two have been close for years.

Malcolm is so vulnerable yet earnest.

Foley completely embodies a man whose calling is to genuinely serve others. His softness and sensitivity are comforting, and that only becomes more so when you put him opposite Hayes’ quirky but grounded Lori.

There’s enough there to make you want to root for this pairing, whatever it is that they’re trying to be, but there are also so many alarm bells going off about them, too.

The hour begins with the heaviness of Jenny’s haunting of their lives and the narrative.

Malcolm is struggling to raise his kids on his own, with only Lori really helping, and he misses his wife. But by the midway point, there’s this drive to push him out of his grieving process and get him back out there, and it’s mildly frustrating.

David takes him to the club, almost as if he’s trying to shift their friendship from one where they were family men to carefree bachelors, when that’s not the case. Well-meaning members of his congregation flock to the widower as if eager for him to move on.

Lori’s coworker puts her on a dating app, which makes it super awkward when David’s profile pops up. It seems he’s the only one eagerly moving on from divorce and not processing the destruction of their family.

But before we can sit with that and Malcolm and Lori’s friendship, the first hour features an admittedly steamy makeout session in the car as it’s pouring rain. Seriously, peak romance is kissing in the rain — it’s a popular trope for a reason.

I barely got to wrap my head around the friendship these two have before we’re thrust into romantic territory and all the potential conflict that will emerge from its messiness.

In every scene between Malcolm and Lori, there’s a very obvious codependency.

They are also mourning Jenny together, and it’s still fresh and raw. They’re both lonely, and they’ve ultimately made one another a priority — everything — outside of their children.

The chemistry is there, but the timing is not great.

And fortunately, in the second episode, Lori gives voice to the concerns viewers may have about their dynamic.

But then, by the end of the hour, Malcolm is right there telling her about his feelings and how genuine they are, regardless of whether they’ll put a pin in it for now.

It’s all happening very fast. Are they truly in love, or just clinging to the idea of each other? Are these genuine feelings, or an unbreakable bond forged in shared grief?

The rest of the season will likely have these two orbiting around each other and figuring out what the nature of their relationship will be while fielding the opinions of everyone around them, from the congregation to their kids and David.

They make it clear there weren’t romantic feelings when Jenny was alive, but it won’t quell speculation or strong emotions, regardless.

The way the families are intertwined is a significant part of what makes this drama so compelling. And like any strong family drama, the kid and teen stories are just as compelling as the adult ones.

A universal theme of It’s Not Like That is that life is messy and complicated, and everyone, regardless of age, is still just trying to figure it and themselves out. You never stop growing or the process of self-discovery.

The Soto and Jeffries kids are at stages of their lives where they’re coming into their own identities while navigating some hardships of their own.

For the Jeffries, they’re struggling with the loss of their mother, and it manifests itself differently in all of the kids.

Who touches me most is the eldest, Flora. It’s evident that she went from the kid they initially didn’t have to worry about to the one Malcolm can’t stop watching.

She has that eldest daughter knack for mediating between Malcolm and her siblings, speaking her peace, and often challenging Malcolm, sometimes even inspiring him, too.

Her mental health issues are raw. It’s clear she struggled with things like panic attacks and depression well before her mother died, and she even has a past of self-harm.

But it’s also evident that despite that and her father’s constant concerns, Flora is much better than Malcolm gives her credit for.

She has a quiet maturity to her that’s endearing and makes you want to invest in her story and wherever it leads. By the second installment, what’s beautiful is seeing a young woman discover a passion for writing and finding her own voice.

To Malcolm’s disappointment, Flora has strayed from God and her faith, and I respect how she holds steady in her resolve on that, naturally questioning everything after her mother’s death and expressing how she’s lost right now, while simultaneously not disrespecting or invalidating her father.

It’s the opposite of sweet Justin. He mirrors his father — pure, sweet, earnest, and faithful. You get the sense that becoming a pastor is, in fact, his calling.

He’s such an old soul and so intuitive.

Ironically, he’s the one Malcolm feels he never has to worry about, very much echoing Malcolm’s own status. It’s Justin who offers sage moments, like extending a prayer to his bully and asking his father, who it is he leans on and turns to…

He has the type of spirit you don’t want anyone to break, which is why it’s frustrating to see what he’s enduring at school.

But at least with Casey around, there’s a sense that the harsh realities of school and what it can do to soft, sensitive souls aren’t as bleak.

Pen is frustrating, but sympathetic.

A natural byproduct of these kids growing up together is that it doesn’t automatically mean they’re meant to be friends. It’s not surprising that Pen would want to find her own path outside of this dynamic she’s had with Casey her entire life.

They’re totally different people. And without her mother, she’s navigating her formative years without guidance.

Interestingly, I sense there’s some resentment of Casey, too. Pen is floundering, trying to figure out who she is without her mother and in her peer groups. Meanwhile, Casey is so self-assured.

In many ways, it seems that Casey possesses some of the fearless, unapologetic, and confident vibes that Jenny did. And having to see this extension of your “framily” being more like your own mother than you are is probably hard.

It’s a shame that Casey has to suffer under it. Outside of Flora, Casey is the character I connected with the most.

Casey has little interest in fitting in or appeasing her peers and seems to value authenticity. It’s intimidating to those around her, leaving her to battle fellow kids who don’t yet understand or appreciate her self-assurance.

She’s ahead of her time in that way. We also see how she responds to her parents’ divorce over Merritt. He’s still holding out hope that his parents will reunite, whereas Casey accepts things for what they are.

But underneath all of that, it’s also clear that Casey’s most significant issue may be Lori’s devotion to Malcolm and his family.

They’re practically a blended family already, right down to Sunday dinners that they’ve upheld since before Justin was even born.

But Lori, focusing so much on Jenny in her final days and now on her kids, sometimes neglects her own.

Expecting Casey to show grace to Pen and put up with bullying, or not hearing her when she talks about the shift in their dynamic, isn’t helpful to Casey.

It’s not fair that Merritt seems to blame his mother for not realizing their father would leave them. Still, when you couple that with her full attention on Jenny, Malcolm, and the Jeffries kids, it’s easy to understand his position.

She was doing what any good friend would do, as Jenny was dying, and now, in the hereafter, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t neglected her own family in the process. Although it still seems like David blindsided her with the divorce.

Jenny’s death unexpectedly affected him; it prompted him to end things with his wife. It almost seemed like a “life is too short not to be happy” sort of scenario, but I really would love to know more about their marriage to grasp the full extent of David’s motivations.

Even when he spoke to Malcolm about them, it all felt unclear to me. He, too, is trying to figure himself out these days, but it looks erratic to his family, who are reeling from his decision to break their family apart.

I’ve also noticed that his desire to be so active now suggests he might not have been this paternal when he and Lori were together. Nevertheless, I love Manifest‘s J.R. Ramirez, even though I’m struggling with David as a character overall.

And Merritt is endearing on his own.

The reckoning in store for him, as he overheard that conversation between Malcolm and Lori, will be something else.

Merritt often seems like the one who wants the adults in his life to get their act together, and that likely won’t be changing after the revelation about the kiss.

Merritt doesn’t seem to like change, but it’s all happening against his will, so I love that they’ve dug into how he’s making drastic changes in his own life to maintain some form of control.

He quit wrestling, dumped his girlfriend, took up drums, and his dynamic with both of his parents has completely changed.

But at least he has found a kindred spirit in Flora.

The blossoming potential of young love is sweet, and I’m already invested in it. Not only do they both understand each other’s families, but they can be real confidants with one another, and neither of them seems to have that elsewhere.

They’re a healthy dynamic, and I love that. Flora actually telling him about her past spoke volumes, and Merritt instantly understood its significance and what it meant for their bond. I can’t wait to see more of them.

Over to you! Are you loving It’s Not Like That? Sound off below with your thoughts.

It’s Not Like That streams on Wonder Project via Prime Video. New episodes debut on Sundays.

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