Some shows are flashy, loud, and attempt to hook you with car chases and melodrama. The Four Seasons is not one of them, and that's precisely why it's so effective. Instead, it conjures up a world about three middle-aged couples who take a vacation together four times a year, and allows the drama to develop the way it does in real life: slowly, uncomfortably, and with much laughter, passive aggression, and wine.
This eight-episode Netflix dramedy, taken from Alan Alda's 1981 film of the same name, reimagines the concept with intelligent writing, a dream-cast, and an honest, sometimes agonizing, always human examination of what it means to grow older. Individually and as a group.
Fey plays Kate, the organizer of the quarterly trips and the most Type A of the group—practical, controlling, and extremely expressive (her face alone deserves a writing credit). She's married to Jack (Will Forte), the soft, gentle man who tends to serve as the group's emotional buffer. Their marriage is that quiet beat you only realize after years with someone—full of knowing looks, eye rolls, and an unspoken "we've been through it all" energy. Kate's the practical, Jack's more emotional—and somehow, they make it work. They're balanced in the way long-term couples tend to be.
Then there’s Nick (Steve Carell), who casually drops a bombshell early in the series: after 25 years of marriage, he’s leaving his wife Anne (Kerri Kenney-Silver). Cue group chaos.
And then there's Claude, the Italian who is basically the group's hype man, and his husband Danny, who keeps everyone in line, unless he's chasing after snacks or swiping on Grindr. They don't have kids and they do have a bit of an adventure gene.
The real catalyst here is Nick’s decision to bring his new 32-year-old girlfriend Ginny (played with unsettling perky energy by Erika Henningsen) on their post-divorce trips. Let’s just say, it doesn’t go over well. She is portrayed as this ditzy dental hygienist, but there was a depth to her character. She was her own person and not just someone thrown in to cause chaos in the plot.
In summer, the group is forced to endure yurt-based eco-lodging (Ginny’s idea, obviously) complete with audible sex noises and composting toilets. In fall, things peak at their daughter’s college play, which begins with the line: “Once upon a time, my dad destroyed our family and started dating a stupid bitch.” Subtle.
But amidst all of it, the group remains. There are still cringe-worthy dinners eaten, board games played, and passive-aggressive jabs hurled with panache.
But it’s not afraid to sit in the discomfort either. There are episodes—especially in the middle stretch—where the tension is thick enough to slice. Characters stew in their feelings, lash out, or simply retreat. And honestly? It feels true to life.
No dramatic posturing or overblown tantrums (well except for one, I'm looking at you school play).
While The Four Seasons is obviously funny, it's also deeply sorrowful. Beneath the witty banter and meticulously planned summer getaways, it's a story about time—about how it wears away, toughens, and rewrites the bonds we consider indestructible.
The show captures middle age in all its awkward glory: the fading sex drives, the quiet compromises, the weird thrill of finding a good air fryer. It’s a love letter to long-term relationships—whether romantic or platonic—and the effort it takes to keep them alive.
It also manages to avoid the trap so many “older adult” shows fall into: bitterness. The characters are certainly confused by things like gender fluidity and eco-resorts, but the show never makes their confusion something to be ridiculed or condemned. When Nick pleads with Danny to explain to him what "fluidity" even is, it's a moment of genuine curiosity and not ignorance.
But it's not all perfect. Some scenes feel a bit too staged—like the vow renewal ceremony that ends mid-vow with no real follow-up. Others, like the daughter’s college play, stretch believability. I mean, would any college kid really put their messy family drama on blast in front of their professors and classmates? Probably not. But hey, dramatic license.
Anne, the wife who gets left behind, doesn’t get quite the emotional space she deserves. There’s some slapstick, some cartoonish moments, but not enough quiet exploration of what it really means to be discarded after 25 years. Her grief is real, but it’s also undercut by jokes. A little more heart-to-heart, a little less fruit-smashing, would’ve gone a long way.
While Danny and Claude do get a fair amount of screen time—and it’s nice to see a gay couple treated with the same narrative weight as the others—their dynamic left a lot to be desired. One kind of annoying thing was how Claude kept doting on Danny. Like, I understand lovey-dovey stuff, but this was too much. Claude was way too emotionally invested in Danny and lacked an identity of his own. Danny, on the other hand, was only mildly reciprocative and some of his actions were outright hurtful. I mean, if my partner was even half as mean to me as Danny was to Claude, it’d be divorce in a heartbeat. It’s one thing to have relationship quirks, but this dynamic at times felt more like emotional imbalance than mutual love.
At a mere eight episodes (each roughly 30 minutes), The Four Seasons is veryyyy bingeable. It's not a show that yells for your attention. It doesn't have to be. The lived-in acting, the naturalistic dialogue, and the messy relationships do all the heavy lifting.
Is The Four Seasons perfect? Nope. But is it worth your time? Absolutely. Especially if you're someone who gets that love is messy, marriage takes work, and friendship is sometimes the only thing holding the chaos together.
Verdict: 4 out of 5 ✨
