by Natalia Cherepanova

The Four Seasons on Netflix is warm, witty, and quietly heartbreaking but not everyone will be swept away

If friendship had seasons, this would be the year everything changed. Netflix’s The Four Seasons, a mini drama inspired by Alan Alda’s 1981 film, gives the classic premise a modern shake-up with an A-list ensemble and a polished look that masks the emotional cracks underneath.

Tina Fey, Steve Carell, Colman Domingo, and Will Forte lead this eight-part story about three long-time couples whose yearly tradition of vacationing together begins to unravel after one of them announces a divorce. It’s a setup rich with possibility: scenic getaways, unresolved feelings, new partners, and lingering tensions, but the results aren’t always as breezy as the lakefront air.

Created by Lang Fisher and Tracey Wigfield, The Four Seasons blends light comedy with midlife melancholy. At its best, it captures the tiny betrayals and shifting dynamics that define adult friendships. At its most frustrating, it feels like a reunion you were invited to but didn’t quite connect with.

The plot follows the group over four vacations: spring, summer, fall, and winter, marked by changing landscapes and rising emotional temperatures. But at the heart of it all are three distinctly different couples, each one representing a version of long-term love under pressure.

Kate and Jack Burroughs, played by Tina Fey and Will Forte, are the reliable couple who’ve known each other and the rest of the group since college. Kate is the group’s fixer, a hyper-organised realist who thrives on structure and scheduling. Jack, her well-meaning but easily distracted husband, balances her sharpness with gentle warmth.

Their marriage is stable on the surface but quietly eroding, with subtle resentments bubbling up between the lines. Fey, in a grounded turn, leans into dry wit and restraint, while Forte surprises with a performance that adds real tenderness beneath the goofiness he’s known for from Saturday Night Live and The Last Man on Earth.

Then there’s Nick and Anne, the couple whose separation detonates the story. Played by Steve Carell and Kerri Kenney-Silver, they embody the kind of long-standing relationship that looks fine from the outside until it suddenly isn’t. Nick is entering a restless phase of his life, yearning for spontaneity and connection, while Anne finds comfort in routine. His announcement that he’s leaving her after 25 years sends everyone into crisis.

Carell, best known for The Office and a string of critically acclaimed films, walks a fine line between charm and selfishness. Kenney-Silver, widely recognised for her comedic work in Reno 911!, surprises here with a more vulnerable, quietly powerful performance that gives Anne real weight and pathos.

Danny and Claude, played by Colman Domingo and Marco Calvani, offer a different lens into modern love. Danny is an ambitious architect battling a serious health condition he’s desperate to ignore, while Claude is the nurturing but occasionally overbearing partner trying to hold things together. Their open marriage raises eyebrows among the more traditional members of the group, but what stands out is their raw honesty about aging, fear, desire, and devotion. Domingo, a standout in Euphoria and Rustin, brings gravity and charisma to every scene. Calvani, making a notable return to TV after a twelve-year break since The Borgias, is more than just a quiet support role. A seasoned playwright and filmmaker, he adds depth and soul to Claude. His recent work includes the queer drama High Tide, which premiered at BFI Flare and further showcases his creative reach beyond acting.

And then there’s Ginny, the newest addition to the circle, played by Erika Henningsen. As Nick’s much-younger girlfriend, she enters the group like a disruptor. What could have been a one-note role turns into something more layered thanks to Henningsen’s thoughtful performance. Known for originating Cady Heron in Broadway’s Mean Girls, she brings a mix of awkward optimism and resilience, slowly earning her place among the skeptical friends.

Visually, the series is lush and elegant. Cinematographer Tim Orr captures the beauty of each getaway, from serene lake houses to vegan island resorts and snow-dusted chalets, giving the show a soft, cinematic texture. Vivaldi’s concertos return as a thematic anchor, tying each season together in a nod to the original film.

But while the production sparkles, the storytelling occasionally falters. The emotional stakes aren’t always fully realized, and some character arcs feel too neat for the mess they’re trying to portray. The show teases big questions about loyalty, aging, and how long friendships can survive change, but often backs away from truly answering them.

That said, there are scenes that land with real feeling. A late-season twist involving Nick’s fate jolts the show into emotional focus, and moments between Kate and Danny shine with understated authenticity. Domingo and Fey, in particular, find a natural rhythm that lifts every scene they share.

The Four Seasons won’t be for everyone. It lacks the edge of The White Lotus and the chaotic energy of Glass Onion, opting instead for a more muted tone. It’s tender, sometimes slow, and often subtle. But for those open to its gentle rhythm, it offers a thoughtful look at friendship, change, and what it means to grow older together or apart.

Final verdict: 3.7 to 4 stars. A beautifully acted, emotionally sincere drama that hits more often than it misses, but its quiet tone and slow pace may not suit every viewer.

‍