Before Walter White, there was Nancy Botwin; the suburban SoCal widow (played ever-so-coolly by Mary-Louise Parker) who sold cannabis to support her family, including four (dead) husbands and three children. She faced danger, death, several cities to evade the law, and the PTA. For eight seasons we watched her kind of grow as a person, but mostly claw her way to the top of an international drug-smuggling cartel — at which point it’s time to call it and say it was all probably more about Nancy than her family (not more than a little similar to Heisenberg’s rise to infamy). But it was an entertaining ride while it lasted.

'You Can’t Miss the Bear' 

And Showtime’s dope pilot certainly doesn’t. First airing in 2005 as the cable network’s highest-rated show, Weeds started right in the middle of the fray: Nancy’s first husband is dead, she’s rocking a knockoff designer bag and going up against her uptight frenemy Celia (Elizabeth Perkins) on the PTA, all before the screen is filled with pot being bagged and we discover Nancy’s already in the green.

For a screenwriting study, the series' stakes are easy to spot: Will Nancy get caught as a pot dealer?

Is there a relatable character in this world? Several! What about contradictions we haven’t seen before among all the tropes? After their PTA debate, we learn Nancy and Celia are actually friends! Nancy’s pot supplier is a Black family headed by matriarch Heylia (Tonye Patano) — clearly "not from her neighborhood," but also someone with whom Nancy has a more-than-business relationship. While the racial stereotypes run rampant in both directions, when Nancy shows up on their doorstep at the end, it's Conrad (Romany Malco) whom she finally crumbles in front of, suggesting that perhaps she feels more comfortable in this secret life than in her "real" one.

"You Can’t Miss the Bear" is also an example of pilots from the days of yore, when a series’ first episode was designed to set up a story world, and not always necessarily have that cliffhanger, gotta-hit-next-episode ending. We returned because we were invested in the world.

The antihero’s journey

Nancy is deadpan, brave and scrappy all at once. She’s flawed to no end — sarcastic, hypocritical (wants to ban sugary drinks at school but sells pot), naive — but with more than one redeeming quality, which makes her infinitely watchable. She may deal pot, but she’s got a moral code that we’re introduced to immediately and hilariously when Nancy won’t have her teenage lackey/competitor Josh (Justin Chatwin) dealing to kids without consequence. How the scene plays out proves Weeds is for sure a dark comedy; one that derives its laughs from a needed release of emotion that’s riled up through the rest of the story. The laughs may come more from shock than actual levity.

The show also liked to play in the gray area of life. Not everyone is all good or all bad and Weeds explored that with all the surprises, humor and drama it could through complex and extremely flawed characters.

"I think the key is... relatability," showrunner Jenji Kohan (Orange Is the New Black, Sex and the City) told Scriptmag in 2016. "There are certain standards that are set for people by their community, or by their spouses, or by themselves, that no one’s living up to. So on a certain level, we all feel like we’re failing, but we’re trying our best. And I wanted characters who reflected that feeling."

And circumstances aside, there was that level of relatability. The people around Nancy are all well defined on their own terms. Her children, Silas (Hunter Parrish), Shane (Alexander Gould), and later, baby Stevie Ray, aren’t just there as stakes to her purpose, but rather characters with their own journeys. Same with Conrad and Josh’s father/Nancy’s accountant Doug (Kevin Nealon). Later we meet Andy Botwin (Justin Kirk), Nancy’s brother-in-law, who turns out to be "the one that got away" to some extent and the best father figure her boys could’ve had.

The cast and show received multiple Screen Actors Guild®, Satellite, and Golden Globe® noms, plus Emmy® Award nominations for Outstanding Lead Actress, Outstanding Comedy Series, and Outstanding Supporting Actress for Perkins, as well as nominations for directing, casting and editing, and a win for cinematography. Parker also won a Golden Globe for her performance.

Nancy is a performer, arguably, as well. At the end of the pilot when we see her break down, she’s just a woman trying to keep it together in the face of her husband’s death. By the end of the series, it’s tough to tell if she’s any better off after eight seasons, or if she’s simply achieved her physical goal: get rich to maintain her lifestyle.

The American dream

The monotony of suburbia, where it’s easy to get lost in the wash of sameness while simultaneously trying to one-up your neighbor and figure out your sense of purpose in this clone-tastic space, spawns a dependence on vices. Weed, namely. And Nancy’s love for iced coffees isn’t far behind. Her desire to provide for her family but more than that, to maintain "the life she’d become accustomed to," drove her to step outside the box and deal. Not to mention adding a little excitement to the housewife’s day.

The idea of consumerism is evident right from the opening strains of the Weeds theme song, "Little Boxes" by Malvina Reynolds. While this credit became a revolving door of artists after season three, it just underscored the idea of the show: We may think we want what everyone else has and will do anything to get it, but it’s all just an illusion. Much like Nancy’s knockoff bag. 

In retrospect

In the Weeds world, marijuana is legalized and Nancy’s The Good Seed is bought out by Starbucks, leaving Nancy the space to do what she wants now... whatever that may be, since she’s left with all the money but no one to share it with as all the people in her life have decided they’re probably better off without her. If a sequel ever gets off the ground, it’ll be interesting to see if Nancy did, in fact, face herself. Either way, she's worth tuning into as an incredible, multifaceted female character.