In the greyest of grey Januaries, it is a gold-star-level move by Apple to bring us the third season of sunshine-in-a-bottle comedy drama Shrinking. The Jason Segel/Harrison Ford vehicle, focusing on grieving therapist Jimmy Laird (Segel) and his surrounding support system, is the epitome of “comfort show”. Every – all too short – episode leaves you with an enormous sense of well-being, having spent time in the company of Jimmy and his warm and chaotic friendship group – and it’s a joy to have them back.

When a show holds such a special, safe place in its audience’s hearts, it can be trepidatious to begin a new season, worrying is this the moment it loses its way? Is this when the show dives off a cliff and loses all that made it special (looking at you, Ted Lasso!)? Well, fear not, now is not the time for Shrinking, and its third season is as funny, heartfelt and delightful as the two seasons before it. The first 3 minutes of the first episode solidify that creators Bill Lawrence, Jason Segel and Brett Goldstein know exactly what makes this show work and stick it right there in the shop window, making you laugh, cry and feel joyfully moved before the titles even cross the screen. All is right with the world.

The world in which Jimmy is dealing with the death of his wife, raising his teenage daughter and trying to help his therapy patients while struggling himself, exists in a bubble outside of our own one (although, daughter Alice (Lukita Maxwell) does wear an LAFD t-shirt as a nod to the heroes of the LA fires that occurred before filming) Because although Jimmy, Paul (Ford), Gaby (Jessica Williams) and their extended family and friends deal with very real problems, they are the kind of problems that can be dealt with only by a loving support network and talking it out with your therapist, not by overthrowing the government. There is no Trump, no ICE, no World War 3 hanging like a Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads, just the kind of life experiences that touch us all. The decision to do this removes some of the existential dread we are all feeling, without a niggling sense that they are avoiding speaking out about world events. Instead, it feels as though they are saying, “We know all these things exist, but right now, let’s focus on you and what you need”. It’s a confident and brave move, which means the show feels universal and oddly timeless (helped by Jimmy’s vintage car, which harks back to Magnum rolling along in the sunshine, solving crimes in the shortest shorts imaginable – the kind of shorts which make, amusingly, an appearance this season).

In the first 2 seasons, we saw Jimmy slowly claw his way out of a pit of grief and self-destruction after the death of his wife Tia, as he slowly let all those around him in to help him lift the load, and in the process, discovering his new therapy technique. “Jimmying” – becoming emotionally and physically involved in the lives of his clients, and encouraging them to take risks which can go disastrously wrong – takes a back seat in terms of action this season, as we focus far more on the people in Jimmy’s private life than his clients, but it still comes under the microscope and its lasting effects on Paul, Alice and others in Jimmy’s life is clear. Having helped Jimmy bring his head above water by assisting in raising his daughter Alice, we now find many of the inhabitants of Jimmy’s world reaching turning points in their individual lives, and waving a drowning hand of their own.

Alice is about to head to college, leaving Jimmy alone and scared; Paul is facing a life without his work, thanks to his worsening Parkinson’s symptoms; Gaby is realising that perhaps the life she had planned out for herself is no longer the life she desires; Brian (Michael Urie) and Charlie (Devin Kawaoka) are about to become parents and negotiating life with their surrogate; lodger Sean (Luke Tennie) is reconnecting with an old girlfriend and wondering if he can still be the same person she loved; and neighbours Liz (Christa Miller) and Derek (unappreciated comedy genius Ted McGinley) are struggling with their inept older son, and their own mortality. 

As the seasons have progressed, more and more people have been added to Jimmy’s widening circle, and it’s a feat of writing that not only does every new addition feel necessary and welcome, but that we also don’t feel we are losing any time with the core characters. From Gaby’s mom to Sean’s girlfriend, we welcome newcomers into the fold and never lose connection with Jimmy, Paul and Gaby at the centre of it. No one is forgotten, even Liz and Derek’s neighbour, Racist Pam, makes an appearance – a multitude of ensemble dramas could take a lesson from Lawrence and co, on this.

Last season, we met Louis (Brett Goldstein), the man who tragically accidentally took the life of Jimmy’s wife, Tia. He returns this season as a man who – like Jimmy – finds himself stuck in that moment of Tia’s death and unable to move forward. Segel and Goldstein work well together, as their commonality helps them both realise that the time has come for them to move forward and live their lives, if for no other reason than out of respect for Tia, who no longer can. The weirdness of their friendship isn’t ignored, but nor does it devolve into twee self-righteousness – they are simply two men with a horrible accident connecting them.

But Goldstein isn’t the only big name guest star this season, as the already starry cast gets even starrier with appearances by Candance Bergen and, most movingly, Michael J Fox. Fox, likely the world’s most famous Parkinson’s patient, plays Gerry who befriends Paul in a doctor’s waiting room, and plays a small role in helping Paul deal with his condition. In truth, it really could simply have been Fox playing himself, as Gerry is simply a man with the same impish charm and joi de vivre that we have seen from Fox through his life on screen. It’s an odd sensation to see such huge stars as Fox and Ford sharing scenes, yet finding their relationship and their conversations about tremors and hallucinations (or “hallulus” as Gaby dubs them) utterly real and believable. In actuality, when it comes to Ford, it feels as though the very fact that he is Harrison Ford adds to the power of Paul’s failing health on the audience. Had Paul been played by a lesser-known actor who comes into our lives as an already older man, the sight of him losing the ability to hold a cup or write his name might not have had the same impact. But because we have known Ford so long, subconsciously we hold those images of him as Han Solo and Indiana Jones (which comes up this season in a surprising little moment) – a vital, strong man in his prime – in the back of our mind, and so the frail, old man that Paul is becoming has a much deeper resonance to us. Though obviously the frailty and tremors are acted, the ageing is not.

The entire cast of Shrinking is incredible, but it’s always clear that Ford is in a class of his own in his portrayal of Paul – and the fact he has yet to win an EMMY for the role should be a thing of public shame. His ability to be the grumpiest, crunchy, misanthrope whilst exuding the wisest, loveliest of grandpa energies is a special gift that ensures the character never falls even close to cliched. But what is most magical is his chemistry and relationship with all the other characters on screen, particularly Jimmy and Alice.

I have said before, and it bears repeating, that Shrinking’s greatest asset is the way that it ensures equal, workable relationships between every point of the circle. While everyone essentially gravitates around Jimmy, the relationships exist around and without him – Liz being de facto grandmother/godmother to Brian’s baby girl; Gaby’s boyfriend Derrick (Damon Wayans Jnr) teaming up with original Derek as a giggly, upbeat pair of hot dude goofs; Alice’s best friend Summer (the sparky Rachel Stubington) becoming a third wheel in Sean’s rekindled love affair – every relationship simply works as a realistic connection (the scenes between fellow blunt cynics Liz and Paul are a special highlight), and adds to the cosy, all-embracing feel that you are in the centre of this friendship group of wonderful people, and get to hang out with them. 

Shrinking creates humour from these friends (let’s be honest, they are family) in the most authentic dialogue as they rip into each other, tease each other and lift each other up. The love they feel for each other is tangible and never dips into the cruel, arbitrary behaviour that many authors use for melodrama. That’s not to say they are perfect – they are all beautifully flawed, but behave in a way that perfectly matches their past, their traumas, their foibles, and their futures. And, importantly, we get to see them work through these issues, and  – thanks to listening ears and gentle (and not so gentle, in Liz’s case) guidance in the right direction – pay penance and work towards doing better next time. Every story beat seems to come so naturally from their environment and place in the road of their lives, that it’s not surprising it feels so much like they are people you desperately want to know – especially if you are a woman and would get to hear Liz and Gaby telling you what a smoke show you are (a lovely detail that captures the best of female friendships, and is also a star in Ted Lasso’s crown thanks to the relationship between Keeley and Rebecca). 

Lawrence and co have created their own kind of therapy in Shrinking – keeping us laughing and entertained, whilst subtly handing us the tools to deal with the issues in our own lives that we are ignoring, as we spend time watching Jimmy and his loved ones deal with theirs. Season 3 continues to carry us along with this bunch of kooky, clumsy, and comforting characters as they all take on the next obstacle in their life and take flight into the new stages of their lives. I only hope that come next year, they’ll be kind enough to let us into their world again. I think we’ll need it.

Oh, and don’t forget, f**k Parkinson’s!

New Episodes of Shrinking arrive Wednesdays on Apple TV