Miniature figures have long captivated audiences within science fiction and fantasy, a tradition that traces back to Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels. The concept of shrunken characters has graced numerous classic films, from Bridal of Frankenstein to modern hits like Ant-Man and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. The new Peacock limited series, Miniature Wife, pays homage to these films but falls short of being a noteworthy addition to the genre.

Based on Manuel Gonzalez’s 2014 short story, Miniature Wife follows Elizabeth Banks as Lindy Littlejohn, a once-celebrated author turned university professor overshadowed by her scientist husband, Les (Matthew Macfadyen). Lindy’s feelings of insignificance in both her personal and professional life are amplified when she becomes literally small due to Les’s experimental invention, designed to shrink objects to 1/12th of their original size.

Lindy’s most pressing dilemma is that Les has not yet found a stable antidote for the shrinking process. His failed attempts often lead to catastrophic results. Complicating matters further, Lindy navigates a plagiarism scandal involving a student’s accidental publication of a story under her name in the New Yorker. An emotional tangle with Les’ colleague, Richard (OT Fagbenle), also arises, whose affections for her are stronger than her feelings for him.

Meanwhile, Les strikes a deal with a sinister oligarch (Ronnie Cheng) that pressures him to produce an antidote within 30 days, jeopardizing all his work if he fails. The series often drags with dull office politics, including dealings with a demanding scientist named Vivienne (Zoe Lister-Jones) who becomes Lindy’s new boss. Subplots concerning their college-age daughter, Lulu (Sofia Rosinski), and Lindy’s best friend Terry (Sian Clifford) feel like unnecessary padding, contributing to a scattered narrative.

Creators Jennifer Ames and Steve Turner could have benefitted from trimming the number of episodes, currently awkwardly balancing comedy and drama at around 45 minutes each. Miniature Wife showcases Lindy’s clumsy adaptations to dollhouse life, coupled with the strains of her rocky marriage to Les amid extraordinary circumstances.

“We all suck,” Lulu candidly remarks about the Littlejohn family, and she’s not wrong. Both Lindy and Les are portrayed as unlikable individuals whose relationship deteriorates under pressure. While this could work in a dark comedy context, attempts to depict the Littlejohns as a couple worth rooting for fall increasingly flat. Banks and Macfadyen’s chemistry is lacking, with Macfadyen often treating robberies as emotional expressions.

As a science fiction piece, Miniature Wife is convoluted, filled with complex jargon that ultimately lacks substance. Its special effects struggle to match the more straightforward visuals of Lily Tomlin’s 1981 comedy, The Incredible Shrinking Woman. Les lamentably claims to have created “a little monster,” yet he has only triggered mild annoyances.