The domestic sitcom has gotten a shakeup in recent years by circumventing its white-bread tendencies with solid network shows like Black-ish and Fresh Off the Boat. But apart from these isolated isles of inventiveness, the genre’s in dire shape. The time couldn’t be riper for a skewering like the one offered by Santa Clarita Diet. Alas, Netflix’s 10-episode half-hour sitcom gets only a few stabs in before falling prey to the very conventions it’s trying to upset.
The plot—Drew Barrymore’s a suburban mom who becomes undead and craves human flesh for sustenance—could’ve been a potent hook on which to hang the family sitcom’s most tired trope: that families always stick together, no matter what. As Timothy Olyphant’s pothead husband tries to take his wife’s transformation in stride, the couple attempts to hide the situation from their teenage daughter (Liv Hewson) and their next-door neighbors. Standard comedic situations arise, except with more blood and puke.