“Children, set the table. Your mother needs a moment to herself.”
This is the catchphrase of Lessons In Chemistry’s protagonist Elizabeth Zott, the one with which she ends each installment of her live afternoon cooking program Supper At 6, the show within this show. It functions as an invitation to her viewers to indulge and do as they please for a minute or two, but it also calls the real-life audience Apple TV+ now courts to do the same. Back when Lessons In Chemistry was but a best-selling book, this message held, too: Let down your guard, let go of guilt and any chick-lit shaming you may have internalized. Let yourself have this. And if that speaks to you, then you should go ahead and tune in when the series premieres on October 13.
It feels like a writerly concoction, this program’s premise: In the early 1960s, a brilliant but overlooked chemist stumbles into a position as a television cooking show host who uses her platform to teach housewives about science as well as their own worth. Think too much about it, and it falls apart like a big, crumbly muffin. It’s pure fantasy, which is what made it such a delicious confection for multitudes of beach-read enthusiasts in the first place. The villains of this story’s source material are two-dimensional ogre types, and each clearly deserves some kind of comeuppance; the heroine is progressive beyond her era and incomparably beautiful to boot. Throw in an anthropomorphized dog (his thoughts and self-doubts narrated), a precocious child, and a bit of mystery, and readers are especially eager to devour it. The crux of all of this remains intact in the televised adaptation, so it goes down with similar ease. But thankfully, for those of us not drawn to the perfectly valid and lucrative land of light literature, there are some important and well-considered pivots made here that give us a bit more to chew on than the book did. As goes another Zott catchphrase: “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The key romantic beats, and our heroine’s gains and losses, remain consistent with the literary version of this tale, and Brie Larson as Zott is well cast and more than equipped to play a social-justice-oriented scientific superhero/single mother. For people immediately turned off by the dog thing, that device dips in and out. (If Zott’s doggy pal Six Thirty—that’s his name—was a favorite part of the book, you might be delighted by that news.) If the idea of flat villains is an unwelcome one, we get a bit more nuance in these renderings than we did in the book. Zott’s adversaries don’t seem simply out to get her in this version, but generally hold some reasoning behind their positions beyond mere chauvinism. A TV executive character named Phil is the one who remains a bit of a caricature (the book version of this guy is a true monster), but he’s portrayed with the sort of childish entitlement and foul-mouthed fervor that makes it fun to watch as we root for him to go down.
There are some bona fide comedic actors who pop up to surprise us in this, appearing to function more as familiar faces than comic relief. Overall, it’s not an especially funny show, though there are a few smart one-liners here and there, and Zott serves up sick some burns. It’s more drama than dramedy, though the book on which it’s based was frequently heralded by readers as humorous. The show’s appeal lies more in its feel-good qualities, virtuous battles for justice against racist and sexist forces, and a classic love story with one of the few good men in the world of these characters.
Now for the best pivot from the page-turner: Harriet Sloane, played by Aja Naomi King. Where the book made Sloane a nosey neighbor type, the kind clipped straight from ’60s sitcoms, with binoculars in hand and ready to snoop, the show gives us someone more substantial with a compelling arc of her own. It turns out that she and Zott have plenty in common, not only in their abilities to see Zott’s partner (her neighbor) as a complex but sweet soul beneath a sometimes surly exterior, but in their lofty ambitions. Sloane is a Black woman whose law degree had been put on hold so that she could raise her two children as her husband serves in Korea as a military surgeon. She’s also a strong community advocate, who becomes involved in organizing local Civil Rights era protests in addition to her years-long effort to protect their Sugar Hill neighborhood, which is predominantly Black, from succumbing to the threat of demolition in favor of freeway construction. But her inclusion doesn’t feel tossed in to boost the diversity of the show’s cast and thread in a racial justice narrative; she feels fully realized, thanks to King’s warm portrayal. It’s comforting to see Sloane phone up Zott to share her personal successes, not just function as an accessory to the white protagonist, and it’s satisfying to see her call Zott out when necessary. It’s hard to imagine this show without her, and that is a feat.
Now, looking at Lessons In Chemistry purely as a show, not a show based on a book, it has plenty of merits of its own. The aesthetics are exactly what we’ve come to expect from mid-century period pieces: The clothes are cinched and stylish, the set pieces evoke that nostalgic charm we know and love. We even see some pretty color-coordinated pastel Tupperware adorning her kitchen cabinets, as Zott sells the stuff for a spell. The look is almost a little too perfect, given that we’re led to believe this is a character who wouldn’t seem to care about that, favoring logic and information over trappings of the time, like maintaining a cute and tidy home. But oh well. It’s fine. The score never gets in the way, the performances are compelling, and the story doesn’t veer too saccharine, though it sometimes skirts that line. It’s a beach watch, maybe. Let it make you feel good, like a piece of Zott’s blackberry pie, and don’t think about it all that hard.
Lessons In Chemistry premieres October 13 on Apple TV+