HBO was on a roll in 2006. The Sopranos was winding down, The Wire was deep in the Baltimore trenches, and then came this show about a guy in Salt Lake City with three houses and a ton of Home Depot-style stress. Big Love season one didn't just drop us into a world of polygamy; it forced us to look at a suburban nightmare that felt weirdly familiar. Honestly, it’s a miracle the show worked at all. On paper, Bill Henrickson is a guy balancing three wives, seven kids, and a burgeoning hardware empire. In reality, he’s a guy one phone call away from a nervous breakdown.
It’s been twenty years since we first met the Henricksons. Most people remember the show for the "ooh, scandalous" factor of plural marriage, but if you rewatch that first season now, you realize it’s actually a show about logistics. It’s about scheduling. It’s about the crushing weight of the American Dream when you try to triple the order.
The Secret Sauce of Big Love Season One
The pilot episode sets a tone that most shows fail to maintain. We meet Bill (played by the late, great Bill Paxton) as he’s literally popping Viagra just to keep up with his domestic "duties." It’s not glamorous. It’s exhausting. The brilliance of Big Love season one is that it refuses to make the polygamy look like a cult fantasy or a harem. Instead, it looks like a middle-management headache.
Each wife represents a different facet of Bill’s psyche and his past. Barb is the "boss" wife, the one who lived through the "monogamist" years and provides the moral glue. Nicki is the wild card, the daughter of a prophet, addicted to shopping and secrets. Margene is the kid—barely twenty, desperate for a family, and totally out of her depth.
You’ve got these three houses in a row, connected by a hidden backyard path. It’s a physical manifestation of a double life. Or a triple life.
Why the Juniper Creek Conflict Matters
The real drama isn't just "who gets Bill on Monday night." It’s the looming shadow of Juniper Creek. This is where the show gets its teeth. Roman Grant, the "Prophet" played with chilling stillness by Harry Dean Stanton, represents everything Bill is trying to escape.
Bill wants to be a "modern" polygamist. He wants the suburban lawn, the flat-screen TV, and the respect of the Salt Lake City business community. Roman represents the old world—the compound, the forced marriages, the corruption, and the 15 percent "tithing" that Bill refuses to pay.
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- The tension between the "Mainstream" and the "Compound" is the engine of the first season.
- Bill isn't just fighting for his lifestyle; he's fighting for his soul against a man who claims to speak for God.
- We see the fallout of "Lost Boys"—the young men kicked off the compound so the older men have less competition for wives.
It’s a brutal look at how power corrupts even the most "sacred" intentions.
Barb, Nicki, and Margene: A Masterclass in Character Writing
Let’s be real: the women run this show. Jeanne Tripplehorn, Chloë Sevigny, and Ginnifer Goodwin create a chemistry that is so uncomfortable yet believable.
In Big Love season one, Barb is the character most viewers identify with. She’s the one who has the most to lose. When she finds out she has cancer—a plot point that explains why she eventually agreed to bring in other wives—the show moves from a "hook" to a deep, emotional drama. She isn't there because she’s brainwashed. She’s there because she loves Bill and was terrified of leaving her children without a mother figure.
Then there’s Nicki. Oh, Nicki. Chloë Sevigny plays her with such a sharp, defensive edge. She’s the one who brings the "compound" baggage into the suburban paradise. Her secret credit card debt is one of the most relatable subplots in the entire season. Who hasn't hid a purchase from a spouse? Now multiply that by three.
The Problem with Bill Henrickson
Bill Paxton was an incredible actor because he could make a fundamentally selfish man seem sympathetic. Bill Henrickson is a polygamist because he wants it. He justifies it through "The Principle," but you can see the ego at play.
He wants to be the patriarch.
He wants the big business.
He wants the big family.
He wants to be the "good guy" while breaking the law every single day.
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The first season doesn't let him off the hook. We see the toll his choices take on his oldest son, Ben. We see the isolation of his daughters. The show asks a very uncomfortable question: Is Bill a hero or just a different flavor of Roman Grant?
The 2006 Context: Why It Hit Different Then
When Big Love season one aired, the U.S. was in the middle of a massive cultural debate about marriage. Prop 8 was on the horizon. The show felt dangerous. It wasn't advocating for polygamy—it was using it as a magnifying glass to look at the cracks in the "traditional" nuclear family.
Critics at the time, like those at The New York Times and Variety, noted that the show felt like a companion piece to The Sopranos. Instead of the mob, the "family business" was a fundamentalist offshoot. The stakes were just as high. If Bill gets caught, he goes to prison, his kids go into foster care, and his wives are shamed.
That constant underlying dread is what makes the first twelve episodes so binge-worthy. You aren't just watching a soap opera; you're watching a slow-motion car crash involving three minivans.
Technical Brilliance and the "Home Office" Vibe
The cinematography of the first season is bright, almost too bright. It’s "High Noon" in the suburbs. It captures that crisp, thin Utah air and the sanitized look of a new housing development. It contrasts perfectly with the dusty, sepia-toned gloom of Juniper Creek.
The pacing is also erratic in a good way. Some episodes feel like a frantic comedy of errors—Bill running between backyards, trying to change clothes and mindsets—while others are somber meditations on faith.
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- The opening credits sequence set to "God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys is arguably one of the best in HBO history. It captures the irony of the lyrics and the visual of the family skating on thin ice.
- The score is subtle, leaning into the domesticity rather than the "weirdness."
- The writing room, led by creators Mark V. Olsen and Will Scheffer, spent years researching fundamentalist groups to get the lingo right. Terms like "The Principle," "Celestial Marriage," and "The Work" aren't just buzzwords; they are the linguistic cage these characters live in.
Misconceptions About the First Season
A lot of people think the show is an attack on Mormonism. It’s actually not. The LDS Church (the mainstream Mormon church) famously distanced itself from the show, and the show itself makes a point to show that Bill’s family is "apostate" to the mainstream church. They are outcasts among outcasts.
The real target isn't religion; it’s the human tendency to overextend. It’s about the "more is more" philosophy of 2000s America. More houses, more kids, more wives, more money. It’s a critique of capitalism wrapped in a religious shawl.
Another misconception is that the wives are submissive. If you watch Big Love season one closely, you’ll see they hold all the cards. Bill is essentially a guest in three different homes. He has to negotiate for everything—food, sex, affection, even his own schedule. The power dynamics are constantly shifting, and usually, Bill is the one being played.
Actionable Insights for a Rewatch or First-Time View
If you’re diving into Big Love season one for the first time (or the fifth), keep these things in mind to get the most out of the experience:
- Watch the background characters. The Henrickson kids are often the "canaries in the coal mine." Their reactions to their parents' lies tell the real story of the season.
- Track the money. Follow Nicki’s debt and Bill’s "Home Plus" expansion. The financial pressure is what ultimately drives the most desperate decisions in the finale.
- Pay attention to the food. Meals are the only time the family is "one." Notice who sits where and who serves whom. It’s a roadmap of the family hierarchy.
- Compare the houses. Each house reflects the personality of the wife who lives there. Barb’s is traditional and beige; Nicki’s is cluttered and "nouveau riche"; Margene’s is a chaotic mess of toys and bright colors.
The season ends with a public exposure that changes everything. It’s the moment the "secret" becomes a "scandal." It forces the characters to finally stop pretending they can have it both ways. You can't be a secret polygamist and a public success story. Something has to give.
Big Love season one remains a powerhouse of television because it doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't tell you if polygamy is "right" or "wrong." It just shows you the bill—and it’s a lot more than most people can afford to pay.
To truly understand the show's impact, look for the "Easter eggs" involving the LDS temple garments or the specific phrasing used during the testimony meetings. These details weren't just for show; they were researched through interviews with former fundamentalists and members of the FLDS to ensure that the "otherness" of the culture felt grounded in reality. This commitment to detail is why the show avoided becoming a caricature and instead became a chillingly accurate portrait of a family living on the edge of two worlds.