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etflix’s The Four Seasons opens with the quiet shock of a long-term marriage falling apart, but never quite figures out what to do with the emotional wreckage. The series follows three long-time couples who vacation together four times a year. The set-up seems promising: a group of close friends in their 50s facing the slow unraveling of marriage, aging and friendship. Created by Tina Fey with Lang Fisher and Tracey Wigfield and starring Fey, Steve Carell, Will Forte, Colman Domingo, Kerri Kenney-Silver and Marco Calvani, the show has plenty of talent, but rarely feels believable, honest or consistently funny.
The story kicks off when Nick, played by Steve Carell of The Office fame leaves his wife Anne, portrayed by Kerri Kenney-Silver, after 25 years of marriage. He shows up to the group’s next vacation with a much younger girlfriend and everyone just... goes along with it. No one seems too shocked; even slightly uncomfortable. The question the show never bothers to answer is why Anne keeps showing up at these group trips, also joined by her ex and his new partner, as if it is perfectly normal. The show treats this set-up as quirky instead of emotionally complicated and that choice sets the tone for what is to come: big topics handled with a shrug.
Anne’s character is handled with a condescending lightness. It skips over what it feels like to be discarded after 25 years of marriage. Her grief is portrayed through a few scattered comedic bits. It is either in smashing strawberry figurines, awkward small talk or the occasional half-hearted outburst. These moments are hollow because the writing does not seem interested in allowing her dignity. She is portrayed as a woman so drained of value that her husband’s infidelity and abandonment are almost inevitable. Somehow, she ends the series justifying his behaviour. It is not just disappointing; it is insulting.
Carell’s Nick fares better in terms of screen time, but not in moral clarity. His journey is almost celebratory in tone. First, it is the mid-life discontent, a fresh-faced girlfriend and light wardrobe changes, then death. His character arc ends the way a man’s indulgent narrative often does. It is abrupt and without consequence for anyone, except the woman he leaves behind. There is an undeniable overlap between this character and Carell’s other recent roles. Once again, he is the older man seeking re-invention, wearing hoodies and zipped sweaters and meeting his end in a car accident, as he did in The Morning Show. If the goal was to humanise his choices, the show never comes close. Instead, it seems to vindicate him.
The writing seems unclear about what kind of story to tell. Is this about the sadness of aging; the joy of long friendships; or the selfishness in modern relationships? It dips into all of these, but abruptly pulls away before any of those actually land.
There is also an odd inconsistency in how the show distributes empathy. While Nick is allowed quiet moments of reflection and forgiveness, Anne is offered humiliation and half-hearted consolation. The emotional imbalance reaches its peak when Anne begins dating again, only to be paired with a character more caricature than person, as though the show is mocking her attempts to recover.
The other couples in the group are treated with equal superficiality. Fey’s Kate is perhaps the most grounded figure in the group, but her scenes with Will Forte’s Jack suffer from a lack of chemistry. Jack’s personality is so withdrawn that it is unclear whether he is emotionally closed off or just underwritten. Their marriage reads as functional and, at times, joyless.
Colman Domingo and Marco Calvani play Danny and Claude, the only gay couple in the group, but their relationship is steeped in stereotypes. Baby-voiced nicknames, exaggerated affect and constant performative bickering make their dynamic difficult to take seriously. It is exhausting to watch. A later storyline involving three partners, presumably added to shake things up, serves no purpose but to alienate. Also, there is no chemistry between them either. For all its gestures toward inclusivity, the show makes this relationship feel the most artificial.
There is also an odd inconsistency in how the show distributes empathy. While Nick is allowed quiet moments of reflection and forgiveness, Anne is offered humiliation and half-hearted consolation.
The idea that these six people have been close friends for decades never really clicks. They do not act like old friends. Their conversations are surface-level, their arguments forced and their connections weak. Despite the beautiful locations and the time spent together, there is no warmth or intimacy. It is hard to believe that these people would have made it through one vacation, let alone dozens over the years. They live in a bubble where taking four vacations a year is normal, divorce is just another plot twist and money and consequences rarely matter. There is no questioning of privilege and no sense of reality beneath the glossy setups.
The writing seem unclear about what kind of story to tell. Is this about the sadness of aging; the joy of long friendships; the selfishness of modern relationships? It dips into all of these, but pulls away before any of those actually land. Even the transitions between episodes are clumsy. It is as if each one resets the story instead of building on it. The characters react to things in one episode, then forget about them by the next, leaving the show feeling unmoored.
While The Four Seasons presents itself as an introspective look at friendship, love and aging, it refuses to sit with discomfort long enough to say anything meaningful. It treats infidelity and emotional abandonment as lightly as it treats vacation plans. What could have been a sharp, honest look at the costs of growing older with the same people instead dissolves into empty gestures and wasted potential.
Zehra Batool is afreelance writer