#119 Somebody Bring Me Some Ham!
06/07/25 18:58
The moment I heard about The Four Seasons I knew I had to watch it. Tina Fey. That’s all it took. I LOVE HER. You might think you love her but I really love her. 30 Rock, Kimmy Schmidt, Girls5Eva, Bossypants, her double act with Amy Poehler at the Golden Globes, her SNL stint. EVERYTHING. Oh, also check out Wine Country, which is probably a film only hyperopic middle-aged women will enjoy, but they will really enjoy it. She’s the consummate comedy creator – fearless, edgy, loopy, clever, commercial and very very funny. I. Love. Her.
The Four Seasons is Tina’s latest project (I’m calling her Tina like we’re BFFs, as I fantasise that we are), an adaptation of Alan Alda’s original 1981 film. It follows a friendship group reuniting for a series of holidays and getaways; the ebb and flow of their relationships over that time. Tina plays Kate, wife of Jack, who is a nice-but-nervous wreck, and together they watch the fallout from their friends Nick and Anne’s marriage breakup. Nick, played by Steve Carell, in midlife crisis mode, hooks up with a younger woman, tries to persuade himself that his new life is fun and not embarrassing, etc. Carell as Nick does the tragic manopause superbly well – he had practise playing a much darker version as Mitch Kessler in The Morning Show. We share Kate’s exasperation as she witnesses Nick’s pathetic shenanigans. Jack, meanwhile, has to have a lie down with a pulse monitor.
Like Wine Country, this show probably works best if you are of a certain age - the age where, like Anne, you have to take a few practise steps before going on an escalator. So many details chimed with me, a low-key rumbling of resonance and mortification that smouldered rather than burned. If you’ve watched 30 Rock then you’ll be used to a more high-octane level of humour – big, in-your-face gags coming hard and fast. This isn’t like that. The Four Seasons is Vivaldi-gentle, a steady, sure-footed (unlike Anne) pace that builds slowly and excruciatingly. I winced and wrung my hands as Anne tried and failed to save her marriage, as Steve embraced the clichés of his life-stage and gender, as their friends tentatively broached and clumsily side-stepped the issue. But also, I laughed. It’s funny, just not quite the way I’m used to Tina Fey being funny. It’s understated, dampened down, a mild pizzicato as opposed to the virtuoso flourishes we might associate with her previous work. Tina’s older, wiser, and has no time for all that jazz hands shit any more. This is her adagio, and I am here for it.
That’s not to say there isn’t the occasional explosion. The Four Seasons can be biting, bloody, and buttock-clenchingly discomfiting. But there’s a general composure to the production - writers and show runners content to let their characters breathe, let the action flow, without peppering the dialogue with ceaseless quips and pratfalls. That speaks of real experience and skill, a creator in full command of her powers. I feel it as a writer myself – that tremendous urge to use all your tricks, put them on display, all at once. It’s only when you learn to keep some of it under wraps, restrain yourself and pare down, that you can be a maestra like Ms Fey. Bravo. Could we maybe meet for coffee some time? Or just… sure, sure. You’re super-busy.
I saw someone online describe this show as ‘White Lotus without all the deaths.’ It sounds like a criticism, but not to me – sometimes, I can’t be doing with this murder nonsense; the stabbing and poisoning and strangling and hideous machinations. Real life is such a fackin’ racket anyway, it’s time to calm down, pour a nice glass of Merlot and discuss Ikea shelving, ceramic pans, maybe have a little squabble about re-mortgaging. Finding the entertainment and intrigue in the everyday takes more ingenuity than making melodrama out of a dead body. One of my favourite scenes in the opening episode of The Four Seasons is the total agony of Danny taking too long to make dinner. The only corpses are the crawfish he finally serves, much to the group’s relief.
There’s a lovely, slightly heart-breaking cameo from an elderly Alan Alda, his Parkinson’s tremor evident, but bright and beady nonetheless. The backdrop is always sensational, whether it’s Nick and Anne’s exquisite lake house, or the ridiculous tropical eco resort booked by Beth, Nick’s hot young lover. Oh sorry, her name’s Ginny, not Beth. Like Kate, I can’t remember, or don’t want to. She’s too young to be relevant.
In short, this is everything I want in a series, at my age. But if, like Beth/Ginny, you weren’t around when Reagan was shot - or when Alan Alda made the original film - then don’t bother. It’s not for you. Watch something on TikTok instead.
The Four Seasons is Tina’s latest project (I’m calling her Tina like we’re BFFs, as I fantasise that we are), an adaptation of Alan Alda’s original 1981 film. It follows a friendship group reuniting for a series of holidays and getaways; the ebb and flow of their relationships over that time. Tina plays Kate, wife of Jack, who is a nice-but-nervous wreck, and together they watch the fallout from their friends Nick and Anne’s marriage breakup. Nick, played by Steve Carell, in midlife crisis mode, hooks up with a younger woman, tries to persuade himself that his new life is fun and not embarrassing, etc. Carell as Nick does the tragic manopause superbly well – he had practise playing a much darker version as Mitch Kessler in The Morning Show. We share Kate’s exasperation as she witnesses Nick’s pathetic shenanigans. Jack, meanwhile, has to have a lie down with a pulse monitor.
Like Wine Country, this show probably works best if you are of a certain age - the age where, like Anne, you have to take a few practise steps before going on an escalator. So many details chimed with me, a low-key rumbling of resonance and mortification that smouldered rather than burned. If you’ve watched 30 Rock then you’ll be used to a more high-octane level of humour – big, in-your-face gags coming hard and fast. This isn’t like that. The Four Seasons is Vivaldi-gentle, a steady, sure-footed (unlike Anne) pace that builds slowly and excruciatingly. I winced and wrung my hands as Anne tried and failed to save her marriage, as Steve embraced the clichés of his life-stage and gender, as their friends tentatively broached and clumsily side-stepped the issue. But also, I laughed. It’s funny, just not quite the way I’m used to Tina Fey being funny. It’s understated, dampened down, a mild pizzicato as opposed to the virtuoso flourishes we might associate with her previous work. Tina’s older, wiser, and has no time for all that jazz hands shit any more. This is her adagio, and I am here for it.
That’s not to say there isn’t the occasional explosion. The Four Seasons can be biting, bloody, and buttock-clenchingly discomfiting. But there’s a general composure to the production - writers and show runners content to let their characters breathe, let the action flow, without peppering the dialogue with ceaseless quips and pratfalls. That speaks of real experience and skill, a creator in full command of her powers. I feel it as a writer myself – that tremendous urge to use all your tricks, put them on display, all at once. It’s only when you learn to keep some of it under wraps, restrain yourself and pare down, that you can be a maestra like Ms Fey. Bravo. Could we maybe meet for coffee some time? Or just… sure, sure. You’re super-busy.
I saw someone online describe this show as ‘White Lotus without all the deaths.’ It sounds like a criticism, but not to me – sometimes, I can’t be doing with this murder nonsense; the stabbing and poisoning and strangling and hideous machinations. Real life is such a fackin’ racket anyway, it’s time to calm down, pour a nice glass of Merlot and discuss Ikea shelving, ceramic pans, maybe have a little squabble about re-mortgaging. Finding the entertainment and intrigue in the everyday takes more ingenuity than making melodrama out of a dead body. One of my favourite scenes in the opening episode of The Four Seasons is the total agony of Danny taking too long to make dinner. The only corpses are the crawfish he finally serves, much to the group’s relief.
There’s a lovely, slightly heart-breaking cameo from an elderly Alan Alda, his Parkinson’s tremor evident, but bright and beady nonetheless. The backdrop is always sensational, whether it’s Nick and Anne’s exquisite lake house, or the ridiculous tropical eco resort booked by Beth, Nick’s hot young lover. Oh sorry, her name’s Ginny, not Beth. Like Kate, I can’t remember, or don’t want to. She’s too young to be relevant.
In short, this is everything I want in a series, at my age. But if, like Beth/Ginny, you weren’t around when Reagan was shot - or when Alan Alda made the original film - then don’t bother. It’s not for you. Watch something on TikTok instead.
- The Four Seasons, 8 episodes, Netflix
