‘Margo’s Got Money Troubles’ Review: Elle Fanning and Michelle Pfeiffer Shine in a Tender, Offbeat Family Story (Apple TV)

On paper, it sounds like a risky proposition. And within minutes of starting it, there’s a lingering suspicion that Margo’s Got Money Troubles won’t be able to sustain the odd, off-kilter tone it so confidently sets up. Is this just a showcase for actors to stretch into roles wildly different from their usual personas? One of those stories filled with slightly absurd, slightly quirky characters who eventually win you over? Or maybe a Sundance-friendly universe, built on gentle eccentricity and a catalog of whimsical affectations?

What’s surprising is that, while it’s a bit of all those things, it actually works. Or at least it did for me, largely because of its warmth, sincerity, and—above all—its empathy toward the world it portrays. We’re dealing with a woman in her sixties—a former Hooters waitress—who dresses and does her makeup like she’s decades younger; a daughter who gets unexpectedly pregnant and ends up running a successful OnlyFans account to support her baby; a friend fully committed to cosplay; a couple of former pro wrestlers; and a deeply religious man who doesn’t drink, doesn’t swear, and seemingly wants to remain a virgin until marriage despite being well past middle age. With that cocktail of eccentric characters, Margo’s Got Money Troubles could have easily turned into a chaotic mess. The fact that it doesn’t—and that it even manages to be moving—is a testament to the people behind it.

Among them is TV veteran David E. Kelley, whose résumé (Ally McBeal, The Practice, Big Little Lies, among many others) has kept him at the top of the industry since the ’90s; a source novel by Rufi Thorpe that leans into that colorful, sympathetic tone; and, crucially, a terrific cast led by a fearless Elle Fanning, alongside nearly unrecognizable turns from Michelle Pfeiffer—Kelley’s real-life spouse, working with him here for the first time—Nick Offerman, Gregg Kinnear, and, in a role that gains weight toward the end, the ever-busy Nicole Kidman. Together, actors, writers, and directors steer a show that could easily have gotten lost in its own carnival of eccentricities. It’s far from perfect—it stumbles over some of the many obstacles it sets for itself—but it radiates such affection for broken, makeshift families and for underdogs trying to make life work that it may win over even the most cynical viewers.

That said, it won’t be for everyone. The initial barrage of excess—performative, visual, tonal—may prove overwhelming. For those viewers, there’s probably not much to argue. I get it: I could have easily been one of them. This is the kind of series that invites both love and rejection, populated by characters who hover near “white trash” stereotypes, heightened performances, and a universe that often feels like a mash-up of the most flamboyant corners of American culture. But the affection running through it—the genuine love between its characters—ultimately transcends much of that, including many of the genre’s familiar clichés.

Fanning plays Margo, a student at Fullerton College, in the suburbs of Los Angeles, who makes the questionable decision to get involved with her English professor, Mark (Michael Angarano), a man whose praise quickly turns into seduction. Pfeiffer plays her mother, Shyanne, a former Hooters waitress who still dresses like she works there, though she now sells cosmetics at Bloomingdale’s. Flashy and intense, she adores her daughter but clashes with her constantly—especially when Margo gets pregnant and decides to keep the baby. Shyanne knows exactly what that choice entails; she’s been there herself. Margo’s father, known as Jinx (Offerman), is a former wrestler struggling with opioid addiction, largely absent from her life. Completing the mix is Kenny (Kinnear), a rigid, deeply religious man who somehow falls in love with Shyanne and plans to marry her.

The arrival of baby Bodhi disrupts everyone’s lives, especially Margo’s. Living with three roommates, she quickly loses two of them, unable to cope with the chaos of a newborn. She’s left with Susie (Thaddea Graham), her cosplayer friend; her father, who returns after a long stint in rehab; and her mother, who never quite connects with the baby—or with her daughter’s decision to have him. With bills piling up and no viable income, Margo discovers she can make good money on OnlyFans, creating a persona (#TheHungryGhost) and posting erotic—if “artful”—content for tips. A writer at heart, she also treats it as a creative outlet, though not everyone around her is on board. From there, things only get more complicated.

Based on Thorpe’s novel, the series fully embraces its “colorful” characters. Just look at Pfeiffer’s makeup and wardrobe, or the elaborate sci-fi costumes Susie creates for Margo. Offerman says little, but his beard and gaze do most of the work. The same goes for Kidman’s eventual appearance as a former wrestler turned lawyer. There are also a couple of larger-than-life OnlyFans personalities (including rapper Rico Nasty and Lindsey Normington) who connect with Margo and try to help her navigate her situation. Beneath all that circus-like surface, though, the show has a pulse: it’s funny, it’s moving, and it never loses sight of the human core of its characters. In that sense, it recalls the work of Sean Baker, from The Florida Project to Anora, and even his earlier films.

There’s no condescension here, and certainly no mockery. If anything, the opposite: even the most troubling or questionable behaviors are treated with understanding, rooted in the idea that these lives are too complex for anyone to consistently “do the right thing.” Margo and her parents make plenty of mistakes, often crossing lines, but their actions always come from a place of emotional truth. Unfortunately, Kelley and his team don’t extend that same generosity to the antagonists, who tend to be more one-dimensional and veer toward stereotype. Even so—and despite an overstuffed episode where every possible conflict seems to collide at once—the series ultimately holds together through sheer warmth and tenderness.

The show also offers a notably nonjudgmental perspective on pornography—or however one chooses to define what Margo and her peers are doing on OnlyFans. While nearly everyone turns against her once they learn a mother is doing “that” in front of her baby, both Margo and the series approach it with a sense of dignity. At first, it’s purely out of necessity—no one wants to hire a single mother for a regular job. But over time, that online persona becomes a space for creativity, one that had been largely inaccessible to her given the choices she’s made. Neither the novel nor the series condemns her. Quite the opposite: they celebrate the resilience of a woman who can rely only on herself—and on that eccentric, makeshift family that, despite everything, never lets her fall.