On its surface, Brigid Delaney and Benjamin Law's Netflix series Wellmania(opens in a new tab) is a bright, fast-paced comedy taking aim at the trillion-dollar wellness industry(opens in a new tab), from ludicrously expensive (and invasive) cleanses to fad workouts, all based on Delaney's book(opens in a new tab). Aspirational wellness is often shoved down our throats online (see: TikTok's incessant emphasis on self-care and personal advancement) and by company branding — one clinic in the show literally screams with its all-caps signage: BE WELL. Just do it, right?
But beyond the quixotic juice cleanses, aggravating calorie logging, and deeply farty colonics, Wellmania broadens the idea of "being well" itself, through our relationships with family and longtime friends, but more importantly, with ourselves. Yes, it's an idea that would make Celeste Barber's food critic protagonist Liv want to puke in a spin class (which she incidentally does). But unfortunately, it's one that can directly impact our mental and physical health, a lesson Liv will learn by having to confront the connected things she's been actively avoiding by living in New York: her life in Sydney and her unresolved grief.
Liv is a smart, hilarious, influential journalist and critic who'd probably wear a "life of the party" t-shirt semi-ironically. The series' theme song quite literally invites the viewer to "call me the good time girl." But behind her audacious facade lies someone who hasn't quite processed a traumatic loss from her adolescence. Liv's past experience slowly bubbles up during the series with her return home to Australia, and it begins to connect with her more hedonistic, indulgent tendencies. For anyone who's lost themselves in feigned confidence and Bacchanalian excess while processing (or not) grief, Wellmania strikes an unexpectedly poignant chord. Over the series' eight episodes, Liv literally loses her shit in more ways than one.
I'm not sure if it's just me, but it feels like there's been a glut of grief all over our screens of late, from Succession's third episode hitting home to Apple TV+'s Shrinking from the word go, Marvel's WandaVision to Guillermo Del Toro's Pinocchio and Jenny Slate and Dean Fleischer-Camp's Marcel The Shell With Shoes On. Even Netflix's children's movie Chupa sprung it on me. And so does Wellmania, but in this case, with Law and Delaney's script in the savvy hands of directors Erin White and Helena Brooks, the show specifically explores Liv's unresolved grief(opens in a new tab). Wellmania makes space for the way loss can affect those who keep "calm and carry on," leaving emotions unprocessed for years. Liv hasn't allowed herself to feel the pain of losing her father in her adolescence, instead becoming particularly disconnected from her mother Lorraine (Genevieve Mooy), taking on feelings of blame and guilt without confronting them. Liv embodies avoidance(opens in a new tab), a behaviour that's "generally considered an adaptive response to loss, and an integral component of the initial, acute grief response."
But slowly, Liv opens up to the idea of confronting her inner turmoil — though she does this for professional gain, not necessarily personal development. In episode 4, during a nude therapy session with renowned author, sex therapist, and motivational speaker Camille Lavinge (Miranda Otto) — "Nudity makes us vulnerable," she insists — Liv is terrified by her own thoughts. It's the first time in the series Liv's confidence makes way for vulnerability, confessing her deep fear of "being a fuckup" and letting people down, and Barber's performance is a moving pivot from Liv's usual cynicism. It becomes clear it's not only grief that she's concealing, but guilt; an assumed responsibility for a traumatic event which she buries in excess, avoidance, and intemperance. But the series moves toward moments of genuine healing for Liv.
Liv's trip to Canberra for a U.S. green card appointment in episode 6 is derailed in a comedy of errors, ending up with her hitching a ride with death doula Philomena (Yael Stone). She's on call, assisting a family who are about to farewell a loved one, and Liv's unexpectedly thrust into their immediate grief. What begins as a somewhat hilariously horrendous for the audience, and a triggering experience for Liv, becomes a deeply moving experience for everyone involved. When one family member instantly springs into practical mode, Philomena soothes her, "Sweetheart, you can't manage the grief out of your life or run from the pain. Just got to feel those feelings, even if it's the hardest thing we've ever had to do." Essentially, while forcing her to confront death in a wild road trip detour, Philomena gives Liv an experience she didn't have with her own family, of sitting together in the pain of loss, sharing memories, and saying goodbye. "That's not at all how my family dealt with it," she tells Philomena later. In a beautiful, silly moment, one of the siblings, Erika (Jenna Owen), breaks into song at her father's bedside after his passing, breaking the tension with a wonderfully inappropriate, tearful rendition of Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," which goes unexplained in the special way silly family in-jokes go.
As a fast-paced comedy, Wellmania doesn't plunge you headfirst into an analysis of loss. However, the series explores the repercussions of unprocessed grief through its complicated, confident protagonist, Liv, who Barber perfectly paces through her journey to confronting her pain. Or least, to the starting line.
