The Four Seasons Review: Growing older, falling apart, and finding grace along the way

So, I just finished binge-watching Netflix's The Four Seasons—and really, I did not expect to be this impacted. I walked in expecting I'd receive a warm ensemble comedy with some recognizables and soft chuckles. You know, the sort of show you watch in the background while folding laundry.

But what did I get instead? Eight episodes that seemed like someone had stripped back the layers of adult friendship and held up a mirror to everything we quietly endure, question, or mourn within our relationships once we reach that dreaded "midlife" milestone.

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A simple premise that hits too close to home

Let me begin with what this series is about, at least on the surface. The Four Seasons is derived from the 1981 Alan Alda movie (which, complete confession, I hadn't watched previously). It revolves around three couples who have been together for years and take vacations together once a season.

Imagine it: the same cast of characters in four different beautiful settings, having conversations they didn't realize they had to have. Sounds like paradise, doesn't it?

But here's the thing—in the first episode, on what is supposed to be a romantic anniversary weekend, Nick (Steve Carell) lays a nuclear bomb on the group by informing them that he's leaving his wife, Anne (Kerri Kenney-Silver). After 25 years of marriage. In front of the whole group. In a borrowed lakeside cabin. With charcuterie set out. I mean. Come on.

From there on, The Four Seasons informs you that it's not merely about seasonal looks and easy vacations. It's about the tectonic plate shifts that occur in relationships—romantic and friendly—when individuals begin to question the lives they've constructed. And it's served up with a mix of sharp wit and muted heartbreak that lingers.

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The cast of The Four Seasons is a comfort watch dream... but not just that

You know the kind of ensemble casts where the entire group feels like the dinner you wished you were invited to? That's what The Four Seasons delivers. Tina Fey stars as Kate, the group's emotional cement. Will Forte is her taciturn, emotionally literate husband (the sort who might make his hummus to bring to every potluck).

Colman Domingo adds soul and twinkle as Danny, the long-haired architect who just can't help but call out everyone's bullsh*t with a dash of charm. And then there is Nick—Steve Carell, doing that thing he does so well, where you want to punch him and hug him within the same scene.

His now ex-wife, Anne, is played by Kerri Kenney-Silver, whose subtle disintegration throughout the series punched me harder than I could have anticipated. And just to throw fuel on the fire, make way for Ginny (Erika Henningsen), Nick's new, much-younger girlfriend who appears to have wandered out of a wellness retreat and into the group's shared worst nightmare.

Their group chemistry is so authentic that it's like you're listening in on actual people. Not sitcom people. Actual, messy, complicated people.

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Midlife isn't a crisis—it's a slow, relentless question

What I loved most—and felt so understood by—is that The Four Seasons doesn't approach midlife as a punchline. There's no "we're old and irrelevant now" routine. Rather, it mines what it is to reach this stage of life and finds, "Wait, is this it? Is this the life I wanted?"

Whether it's Anne trying to reassert herself as an artist, or Kate silently bearing everyone else's emotional labor, or Danny questioning whether his charm is merely compensating for loneliness, there's always a greater, softer tension brewing beneath the comedy.

There's a particularly biting throughline throughout the show regarding how friendships develop—or deteriorate—when everybody begins making significantly different life decisions. Somebody gets divorced, somebody else goes into therapy, and someone else begins dating a yoga influencer.

The group must get through those adjustments without attempting to keep up appearances. And that was relatable.

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Scene-stealers and gut-punches (and Yes, that Guitar Guy)

I won't give away big plot reveals from The Four Seasons, but I do need to holler at some highlight moments that lingered.

The summer episode, which takes place in an eco-retreat, left me gasping. Ginny's entire energy of "I learned this in a breathwork retreat" colliding with the group's sarcasm was the height of generation humor.

In the autumn, the gang returns to their college campus, and in an instant, they're the parents strolling around a campus they once dominated. Seeing them observe their children stumble through fresh romance and old error? It was textured and bittersweet and sort of heartbreaking.

And then comes winter. There's a moment between Anne and Ginny, standing in the snow, that surprised me. No shouting, no drama—just two women seeing that they're bonded by something beyond a man. That moment should win awards.

Also, I have to give a shout-out to the guitar-playing dude who appears in the winter episode. There's always that one person in every group of friends. It's such a tiny moment, but it's a masterclass in secondhand embarrassment and perfectly timed eye-rolls.

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The ending of The Four Seasons leaves a mark—and a question

By the last episode, I wasn't prepared to say goodbye. The narrative doesn't wrap everything up with a bow, but it provides you with enough closure to be content, with sufficient vagueness to still ruminate on things.

Without spoiling too much, how the group adapts to their new reality is what lingered with me. Some friendships warp, some shatter, some quietly morph into something else. There's a pregnancy reveal I didn't see coming, but somehow it doesn't feel like a twist for drama's sake—it feels earned. Life goes on, even when we have no idea what that looks like yet.

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Should you watch The Four Seasons?

If you've ever glanced around at your adult friendships and thought, "When did we all get so complicated?"—this show is for you. If you're in your 30s or 40s and wondering what it means to grow up in relationships that are meant to last forever, The Four Seasons is totally for you.

It’s not fast-paced. It’s not flashy. But it’s one of the most honest shows I’ve seen in a while about what it means to grow older with people—lovers, friends, exes, and everyone in between.

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The Four Seasons caught me off guard—not with huge plot surprises or shockingly big reveals, but with its consistent, measured peeling away of individuals who've known one another long enough to not be able to lie, but sometimes still do.

It's humorous in that "laugh so you don't cry" manner, and it's warm without being mawkish. Would I watch it again? Possibly. Would I recommend it? In a heartbeat. Just don't look for a sitcom. This is something different. Something better.

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