Jason Segel and Harrison Ford Spark Drama in Apple’s Shocking ‘Shrinking’ Renewal

Olivia Bennett, 1/28/2026Apple TV’s ‘Shrinking’ scores a surprise Season 4—before Season 3 even lands—proving that therapy, heartbreak, and Hollywood wit never looked so chic. Jason Segel, Harrison Ford, and an A-list ensemble invite you to heal (and laugh) in couture. Closure? Darling, that’s so last season.

’Shrinking’ wasn’t initially pitched as a sprawling, multi-season saga. Three acts—neat, tidy, emotionally resonant—was the original ambition. But then, of course, television happened. Bill Lawrence, ever the genre sorcerer (ask anyone with an Apple TV+ log-in and a soft spot for AFC Richmond), has somehow cajoled new mileage from this ensemble formula. Whether this magic has true legs or just fresh shoes, only time and Emmy judges will tell.

A curious thing, this early renewal. At a time when streaming services trim shows with all the warmth of an accountant axing budget lines, Apple’s gamble on more Shrinking sends a message: some stories really are worth breaking protocol for. Or perhaps, more cynically, there’s just no such thing as too much serotonin in a TV landscape saturated with doomscroll drama. Either way, the streaming platform’s aggressive confidence is hard to ignore.

For those who have yet to sink into its couch, Shrinking is a curious blend—the familiar rhythms of a hangout sitcom spiked with wistful introspection. Jason Segel heads up as Jimmy Baird, a grief-ravaged therapist whose journey from numbness to new beginnings anchors the show’s slightly chaotic warmth. There’s a kind of risk in making sadness breezy, but somehow, against the odds (and perhaps better judgment), it works.

Season 3, rolling out over eleven weeks from bleak January through the deceptive hopefulness of early April, finds itself less a chronicle of stagnation than a roadmap out of it. The story wanders—purposefully, but with the kind of unscripted detours that real life offers—into fresh territory. Sofi (Cobie Smulders, for those tracking their How I Met Your Mother bingo cards) flips the rom-com switch, while Jimmy’s daughter Alice toys with the possibility of trading LA sunshine for Ivy League rain. Growing up, moving on, letting go—none of it plays out with the melodrama one might expect.

Not everything in Shrinking feels light-footed, though. Harrison Ford’s Paul finds his Parkinson’s symptoms casting longer, more pronounced shadows. The result? A tension that’s both poignant and pragmatic, pushing the narrative into deeper, more fraught places. Odd to see Ford, the perennial action man, settling in as a curmudgeonly anchor—yet somehow, his blend of sarcasm and sincerity forms the show’s emotional ballast.

One could make a drinking game out of the guest stars alone. Jessica Williams beams as Gaby, equal parts magnetic and sharp-tongued. Christa Miller slides comfortably into the ensemble, and Michael Urie—fresh off a Critics’ Choice win—adds a bit of polished sparkle. Then there are the cameos: Michael J. Fox’s gentle gravitas, the sly surprises of Jeff Daniels and Candice Bergen, and Brett Goldstein blurring boundaries between script and causality as the drunk driver central to Jimmy’s trauma. If Apple’s open bar was measured by star power instead of cocktails, the series would be fully stocked.

Behind the camera, Apple TV’s partnership with Lawrence and Warner Bros. Television is fast becoming one of Hollywood’s more reliable triple threats. After Ted Lasso transformed positivity into Emmy gold (and with more Lasso, perhaps, on the way if Jason Sudeikis’ recent interviews are anything to go by), the streamer has proven it knows how to keep the machine humming. Even Vince Vaughn’s Bad Monkey has pulled off a resurrection, underscoring Apple’s commitment to that peculiar subgenre: quirky ensemble, emotional healing, digestible thirty-minute episodes.

Zoom out to the industry writ large and Apple’s early renewal spree isn’t difficult to decode. Studios everywhere are treating fast renewals as both a PR strategy and a contractual carrot. It’s become less about the art of the long game and more about staking a claim before someone else does. And in the current television arms race—with Lionsgate resurrecting Dirty Dancing (another dance at Kellerman’s, anyone?), and rumblings of a Scrubs reboot—the message is fairly clear. Get in early; nostalgia pays dividends.

On a more granular note, Segel isn’t just the face of Shrinking these days. He’s in the writer’s room, too, shaping the next Apple Original, Sponsor. A subtle reminder that, in a year when awards chatter is already looking ahead to 2025, a creative renaissance is less a wave and more a series of overlapping tides.

What gives Shrinking its edge, though, isn’t a parade of big names or a studio’s bullishness. It’s the willingness to lean into the mess—to linger over heartbreak, to joke about it, to let healing look both glamorous and slightly ridiculous. There’s always that sense, episode to episode, of sitting in a therapy session where the drinks are strong, the advice is half-serious, and—every once in a while—someone manages to say exactly what the room needs to hear.

Closure, as it turns out, is perpetually out of reach. But isn’t that the point? In the current era of streaming—where the next season is almost always already in production—the comfort lies, perhaps, in the promise of return. For now, Shrinking delivers that messy, hopeful, slightly tipsy optimism in spades. Who’d have thought that television’s latest comfort watch would look so much like group therapy—with a Hollywood glow and just a hint of sparkle in the water cooler?

There’s something almost audacious about Hollywood’s latest move—green-lighting a fourth season before the closing credits of Season 3 have had time to settle. Yet Apple TV seems intent on rewriting the playbook with Shrinking, renewing the therapy-flavored dramedy just as the ink for Season 3 barely begins to dry. It’s either a case of streaming execs peering into a crystal ball or a bold, perhaps caffeine-fueled, show of faith in their earnest little ensemble show—a move that, in today’s climate of ruthless cancellations, feels rather like tossing the Oscar envelope before the votes are in.’Shrinking’ wasn’t initially pitched as a sprawling, multi-season saga. Three acts—neat, tidy, emotionally resonant—was the original ambition. But then, of course, television happened. Bill Lawrence, ever the genre sorcerer (ask anyone with an Apple TV+ log-in and a soft spot for AFC Richmond), has somehow cajoled new mileage from this ensemble formula. Whether this magic has true legs or just fresh shoes, only time and Emmy judges will tell.A curious thing, this early renewal. At a time when streaming services trim shows with all the warmth of an accountant axing budget lines, Apple’s gamble on more Shrinking sends a message: some stories really are worth breaking protocol for. Or perhaps, more cynically, there’s just no such thing as too much serotonin in a TV landscape saturated with doomscroll drama. Either way, the streaming platform’s aggressive confidence is hard to ignore.For those who have yet to sink into its couch, Shrinking is a curious blend—the familiar rhythms of a hangout sitcom spiked with wistful introspection. Jason Segel heads up as Jimmy Baird, a grief-ravaged therapist whose journey from numbness to new beginnings anchors the show’s slightly chaotic warmth. There’s a kind of risk in making sadness breezy, but somehow, against the odds (and perhaps better judgment), it works.Season 3, rolling out over eleven weeks from bleak January through the deceptive hopefulness of early April, finds itself less a chronicle of stagnation than a roadmap out of it. The story wanders—purposefully, but with the kind of unscripted detours that real life offers—into fresh territory. Sofi (Cobie Smulders, for those tracking their How I Met Your Mother bingo cards) flips the rom-com switch, while Jimmy’s daughter Alice toys with the possibility of trading LA sunshine for Ivy League rain. Growing up, moving on, letting go—none of it plays out with the melodrama one might expect.Not everything in Shrinking feels light-footed, though. Harrison Ford’s Paul finds his Parkinson’s symptoms casting longer, more pronounced shadows. The result? A tension that’s both poignant and pragmatic, pushing the narrative into deeper, more fraught places. Odd to see Ford, the perennial action man, settling in as a curmudgeonly anchor—yet somehow, his blend of sarcasm and sincerity forms the show’s emotional ballast.One could make a drinking game out of the guest stars alone. Jessica Williams beams as Gaby, equal parts magnetic and sharp-tongued. Christa Miller slides comfortably into the ensemble, and Michael Urie—fresh off a Critics’ Choice win—adds a bit of polished sparkle. Then there are the cameos: Michael J. Fox’s gentle gravitas, the sly surprises of Jeff Daniels and Candice Bergen, and Brett Goldstein blurring boundaries between script and causality as the drunk driver central to Jimmy’s trauma. If Apple’s open bar was measured by star power instead of cocktails, the series would be fully stocked.Behind the camera, Apple TV’s partnership with Lawrence and Warner Bros. Television is fast becoming one of Hollywood’s more reliable triple threats. After Ted Lasso transformed positivity into Emmy gold (and with more Lasso, perhaps, on the way if Jason Sudeikis’ recent interviews are anything to go by), the streamer has proven it knows how to keep the machine humming. Even Vince Vaughn’s Bad Monkey has pulled off a resurrection, underscoring Apple’s commitment to that peculiar subgenre: quirky ensemble, emotional healing, digestible thirty-minute episodes.Zoom out to the industry writ large and Apple’s early renewal spree isn’t difficult to decode. Studios everywhere are treating fast renewals as both a PR strategy and a contractual carrot. It’s become less about the art of the long game and more about staking a claim before someone else does. And in the current television arms race—with Lionsgate resurrecting Dirty Dancing (another dance at Kellerman’s, anyone?), and rumblings of a Scrubs reboot—the message is fairly clear. Get in early; nostalgia pays dividends.On a more granular note, Segel isn’t just the face of Shrinking these days. He’s in the writer’s room, too, shaping the next Apple Original, Sponsor. A subtle reminder that, in a year when awards chatter is already looking ahead to 2025, a creative renaissance is less a wave and more a series of overlapping tides.What gives Shrinking its edge, though, isn’t a parade of big names or a studio’s bullishness. It’s the willingness to lean into the mess—to linger over heartbreak, to joke about it, to let healing look both glamorous and slightly ridiculous. There’s always that sense, episode to episode, of sitting in a therapy session where the drinks are strong, the advice is half-serious, and—every once in a while—someone manages to say exactly what the room needs to hear.Closure, as it turns out, is perpetually out of reach. But isn’t that the point? In the current era of streaming—where the next season is almost always already in production—the comfort lies, perhaps, in the promise of return. For now, Shrinking delivers that messy, hopeful, slightly tipsy optimism in spades. Who’d have thought that television’s latest comfort watch would look so much like group therapy—with a Hollywood glow and just a hint of sparkle in the water cooler?