The Four Seasons (2025) Series - Thirty-Minute Vacations, Decades-Long Drama

Three suburban couples vacation together each season, but tensions arise when one couple splits up and the husband brings a much younger woman on subsequent trips.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKTwtIL4xyk

Okay, confession time: I totally missed The Four Seasons Season 1 (wildly irresponsible of me, I know). But here I am, dropping into Season 2 like that guy who shows up at Thanksgiving dinner two hours late. The setup: three suburban couples – old college friends turned plus-ones – vacation together every few months. Picture your nicest friends, all basketwoven Adirondack chairs and campfire s’mores… except someone throws a grenade at the happy campers. Namely, our dear pal Nick who suddenly splits from his wife Anne and trots off with a much younger, scarf-necked ingénue named Ginny (played by Erika Henningsen). Cue existential panic, messy divorce papers, and more wine than you’d find at Napa. (Yes, spoiler-ish, but Netflix made it impossible to talk Season 2 without acknowledging this huge midlife crisis - we’ll keep it vague, I promise.)

In any case, Season 2 picks up literally right after that “Oh my god” moment, tossing our remaining couples - Kate & Jack (Tina Fey and Will Forte), Danny & Claude (Colman Domingo and Marco Calvani), and Anne (Kerri Kenney-Silver) + Ginny - back on airplanes, buses, and rental SUVs for more ruinous vacations. They even stick The Four Seasons concertos by Vivaldi in the soundtrack to emphasize the theme (episodes 1–2 spring, 3–4 summer, etc.). It’s actually kind of adorable: each pair of episodes is named for a season and scored by the corresponding Vivaldi piece, so you really do feel like you’re binge-watching a baroque interpretation of Real Housewives. Smart move on the creators - this structure forces you to keep going, two quick 30-ish-minute episodes per “season”. As a busy guy who needs a nap after two straight meetings about pie charts, I’ll take “easy to binge” over “16-episode drama” any day.

Now, what I loved about it: First, it’s clever about serious stuff. Midlife crises are brutal (ask any decaying 40-something with a receding hairline or a burgeoning beer belly), but Fey & team play them for laughs and introspection. Season 2 still mines those laughs out of marital strife. It’s the kind of show that will have you chuckling one minute about Jack’s marathon-fail (he accidentally signed up for kilometer race - oof!😆) and saying “awww” the next when Kate tearfully admits she’s more afraid to live than to die. Even Tina Fey reportedly wanted you to feel cozy watching it, “like inside a big sweater” at a friends’ dinner party. Well, I couldn’t find her sweater, but I do have a nice fleece hoodie, so close enough.

Second, it is an adaptation of Alan Alda’s 1981 movie of the same name. (Alda wrote, directed, and starred in the original, so Netflix naturally gave him a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo as a random Don in S2.) That history is neat to fans of old-school dramedy. The new version wisely keeps the spirit of the film’s seasonal vacation bonanzas but amps up the wit (the original is lighter; this one doesn’t shy from a cold slap of reality). The ensemble cast is an A-list who’s-who of funny: Fey and Forte draw the midlife misery, Domingo-Calvani bring levity as the gay couple, and Kerri Kenney-Silver shines big-time as Anne, especially through heartbreak (Reno 911! fans rejoice!). There’s even a Kevin Bacon Groundhog Day-esque pair of side characters (Mark Brett and his goofy dad Steve Pasquale) who do the “straight out of one of those light rom-coms” shtick while the main gang has more layers than a pastry.

This Netflix series is also pretty dang smart humor. I’ll give credit: the writing team (including Fey herself plus Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt veterans) spins out both barbed sarcasm and tender moments. It even sneaks in something about friendship beyond spouses: one cast member described it as a “love letter to long-term relationships, both platonic and romantic”. That comes across: the jokes are sharp (slivers from The New Yorker, not Buzzfeed-tier silly), and the show often drills into the realities of aging with no-makeup sensitivity. It reminds me that sometimes you need your crazy group of friends more than you realize. There are scenes that look like a Nancy Meyers movie set - oh those dreamy Alpine chalets and cozy campfire sweaters - but then the characters will smash a snack shack or confess childhood trauma over spiced wine. It’s weirdly comforting: like watching The Intern if Robert De Niro and Anne Hathaway got sober and started swearing.

I also appreciate how bite-sized it is. Eight episodes, roughly 27–35 minutes each, one for each stretch between the seasons of the year and a couple bonus “intermission” chapters. Perfect for a weekend binge when you’re procrastinating work (like me, surprise surprise). They’re quick, tightly written, and leave you wanting just one more. (Netflix, by all means give us MORE than eight next time. Seriously, eight felt like dessert when you wanted the main course.)

Of course, no show’s perfect. Here’s some rub for my salt shaker: The diversity. It’s so thorough it’s basically a checklist. I guess Netflix said “tick every box, folks.” Now, don’t get me wrong, representation is great – but sometimes it feels a bit on the nose, as if someone said “okay, what if one of those vacation-shows had literally everyone?” Even down to someone being pregnant and Catholic nightmares about baptism (though on that note, at least they didn’t call the baby Vivaldi, so points there). The show clearly loves being progressive, but a few characters lean cartoonish. Jack’s dim-witted “midlife crisis guy” schtick is funny once, but by episode 8 he’s basically a Netflix bromide with a bald cap. They’re mostly good-hearted idiots, but ya know, I’ve seen some of us guys do better on a bad day.

Some characters pop as caricatures: Anne can come off a tad melodramatic, and Jack’s wife Kate is a little too composed about everything. But again, that’s TV – somebody’s gotta deliver the jokes about “Is this whole thing your midlife Viagra?” and somebody has to look sexy doing it. So, okay, one could say the characters sometimes wear big labels like “Wasp Mom” or “Gay Italian Engineer,” but the ensemble synergy mostly sells it.

In short, The Four Seasons delivers a surprisingly clever look at the chaos of growing older. It keeps up with the groans and gasps of midlife crises (one sleazy downhill bike scene nearly gave me whiplash from laughter), yet also feels oddly heartwarming. Tina Fey + Lang Fisher + Tracey Wigfield did their homework (they even made sure Vivaldi gets royalties). It’s the kind of show that makes you think, “Maybe my real friends are the ones who would survive this week-long camper chaos with me.”

So yes, despite the rainbow of characters and the occasional “All-Diversity-Show” checklist joke, The Four Seasons is worth packing in your virtual suitcase. It has smart humor about marriage and friendship (no cheap laugh track – every chuckle lands because we get it), a touch of existential “are we doomed or blessed?” over our lives, and a cameo from grandfather Alda himself that feels like a little wink at fans of the original. Just don’t expect a nonstop belly-laugh-fest; think more of a dramedy where the punchlines have actual life attached.

I’m giving it a 7.3/10. It’s not flawless – but hey, neither am I, and it’s nice to see something that’s at least trying to juggle all the lemons life hands us (white wine spritzer optional). It’s comfy to binge, clever enough to stay interesting, and funny enough that my coworkers will still think I have something worth watching.

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