The premise of The Four Seasons is deceptively simple: three middle-aged couples, best friends since college, gather for mini-vacations four times a year – one getaway in each season.
Their comfortable routine is thrown into disarray during the Spring getaway, when Nick (Steve Carell) announces his plan to leave his wife Anne (Kerri Kenney-Silver) after 25 years of marriage right before a surprise vow renewal she has carefully arranged. This revelation jolts the entire friend group and sets them on a yearlong journey—through Summer, Fall, and Winter—where old wounds resurface and new tensions emerge.
Over these four retreats, we follow Kate (Tina Fey) and Jack (Will Forte), Danny (Colman Domingo) and Claude (Marco Calvani), plus Nick and Anne, as each couple copes with the ripple effects of Nick’s bombshell. They congregate at destinations ranging from an eco-resort to a college reunion to a ski chalet, grappling with overheard yurt trysts, an awkward amateur play written by Nick’s daughter, and the sobering threat of mortality.
The question lingering over it all: can these decades-long friendships (and marriages) endure a year of upheaval?
The six friends
Each couple in The Four Seasons reflects a unique angle on committed relationships. Kate, played by Tina Fey in classic, quick-witted form, is the uptight organizer whose eye-rolls and exasperated quips recall her 30-Rock’s Liz Lemon. Jack (Will Forte) is her genial, peacekeeping husband, often smoothing over arguments with dad jokes.
Then there’s Nick (Steve Carell), a hedge-fund manager in the throes of a painfully stereotypical midlife crisis—complete with a fancy new car and a significantly younger girlfriend. Anne (Kerri Kenney-Silver) initially comes off as the sweet, devoted wife who’s blissfully unaware of her husband’s dissatisfaction. She channels her energy into romantic traditions—like that ill-fated vow renewal—until the rug is pulled from under her.
Rounding out the ensemble are Danny (Colman Domingo) and Claude (Marco Calvani), an interracial gay couple dealing with a health scare and the complexities of their open marriage. Their banter, laced with cultural differences and affectionate ribbing, provides a lively counterpoint to the other pairs.
Right from the start, The Four Seasons strikes a balance between sitcom-style humor and a gentle undercurrent of midlife wistfulness. Co-created by Fey, Tracey Wigfield, and Lang Fisher—alumni of shows like 30 Rock and Never Have I Ever—it features zippy dialogue but also takes time for reflective beats. According to Variety, Fey’s team “traded rapid-fire punchlines for a more melancholy take on long-term matrimony,” creating a dramedy vibe punctuated by silent pauses, classical music, and earnest character moments.
Critics have likened this laid-back approach to a mellower version of White Lotus (minus the body count) or Gilmore Girls for the over-50 crowd. There’s the same sort of satirical look at well-to-do vacationers, but with gentler jabs instead of vicious skewering. One moment you’re laughing at farcical sight gags—like paper-thin yurt walls failing to mask Nick’s amorous getaways—and the next, you’re feeling for Anne as she practices saying “I’m divorced” in front of the mirror.
An eleventh-hour tragedy might jar some viewers, but on the whole, the show hovers between sardonic and warm, highlighting both the absurdities and rewards of relationships in midlife.
Unsurprisingly, the writing crackles, thanks to Fey, Wigfield, and Fisher. Their eight-episode format (two episodes per season) allows each couple space to evolve, so no one feels like a sidekick. This longer storytelling canvas means we get real depth on issues like Kate and Jack’s seemingly “solid” marriage, which masks its own set of problems—Kate eventually calls out Jack for always giving others the “top-shelf version” of himself. Such deftly planted conflicts build until they blossom by the winter finale.
Visually, the show maintains a straightforward, almost sitcom-like polish. Directors like Oz Rodriguez (of SNL fame) and Robert Pulcini & Shari Berman keep the focus on character-driven scenes—often dinner-table banter or fireside chats. Yet they aren’t above more cinematic flourishes: the occasional slow-motion montage set to Vivaldi, a picturesque campus in autumn. Alan Alda, who directed the 1981 film that inspired this adaptation, even appears in a cameo. It’s a subtle nod to the original while embracing a fresher, more inclusive take for 2025.
Tina Fey fans won’t be disappointed. As Kate, she delivers razor-sharp one-liners with expert timing, but also reveals a softer edge when she’s comforting Anne or wrestling with loyalty dilemmas. One of the best meta-moments involves a friend commenting that her face is “so loud sometimes”—a wink to how legendary Fey’s expressive reactions can be.
Kerri Kenney-Silver gets a standout showcase too, blending comedic enthusiasm (those matching tie-dye vow renewal outfits) with genuine heartbreak when Anne discovers Nick’s plans. A quiet meltdown in a hotel bathroom is surprisingly poignant and shows Kenney-Silver’s range.
The rest of the cast is equally formidable. Steve Carell’s Nick teeters between cringeworthy man-child and sympathetic lost soul. He’s sometimes insufferable—whining about a yoga-loving girlfriend half his age—but the cracks in his bravado hint at regret and fear. Will Forte, as Jack, offers lovable comic relief, smoothing over tensions with sheepish grins. Colman Domingo adds gravitas as Danny, grounding the ensemble with a soulful presence, while Marco Calvani’s Claude plays up his “excitable Italian” persona for comedic effect.
Together, the six actors capture the camaraderie and long-simmering frustrations of friends who’ve known each other forever. Even critics who were lukewarm on the series acknowledged that the cast elevates the material.
Love, loss and the lives we thought we’d have
Beneath its breezy banter, The Four Seasons poses substantial questions about marriage, friendship, and middle age.
What does it mean to invest decades in someone, only to watch them pivot away? Is Nick brave for chasing a new life, or cowardly for not putting in the work to save his old one? How does one define success—or failure—when a long-term marriage ends after 25 years?
The show offers no tidy answers, instead letting viewers observe how Nick’s decision ripples through everyone’s relationships.
As the friends confront their own insecurities—envying Nick’s “freedom,” worrying about health scares, reassessing stale routines—the series highlights both the frustrations and comforts of loyalty. It neither demonizes Nick nor absolves him, and it doesn’t condescend to Anne’s heartbreak.
Ultimately, The Four Seasons examines how time changes love and friendship. Watching a vow renewal unravel or a deeply personal play about divorce can be both funny and gut-wrenching. The show’s frankness about the work it takes to keep relationships going—along with the acceptance that sometimes they don’t—is what resonates most.
It may not be the buzziest Netflix show of 2025, but it has quietly found its niche as a relatable, thoughtful dramedy.
My verdict
Personally, I find that The Four Seasons delivers exactly what it promises: a layered exploration of friendships and marriages weathering midlife turmoil. Its humor is more gentle than frenetic, and it’s not afraid to let characters sit in uncomfortable moments. The star power of Tina Fey, Steve Carell, and Kerri Kenney-Silver ensures plenty of laughs, while the writing team lends depth to each couple’s journey.
If you’re looking for a riotous comedy, this might feel too subdued. But if a tender, quietly insightful look at the ups and downs of decades-long relationships sounds appealing, pack your weekend bag and tune in. Like a favorite vacation spot you return to every year, The Four Seasons offers a sense of familiarity with just enough surprises to make the trip worthwhile.
