Emily in Paris season four review – as exciting as watching paint dry … if you really hate paint
Seinfeld is famously a “show about nothing”, proving that you can create classic television that turns the minutiae of daily life in a city into something fascinating. But four seasons in to Emily in Paris, the show feels like it is about less than nothing; it has morphed into a black hole devoid of plot, charisma and intrigue.
The first half of season four of Emily in Paris consists of five episodes in which – and I cannot stress this enough – nothing happens. The eponymous Emily (Lily Collins) is in Paris, working as a marketing executive with a flair for operating social media for her stern boss, Sylvie (Philippine LeroyBeaulieu), alongside the eccentric Luc (Bruno Gouery), living in a tiny apartment with Mindy (Ashley Park) and getting caught up in a love triangle or two. The latter sounds like it might provide ample drama, but there is absolutely nothing at stake. All parties involved are able to have mature conversations about their romantic conflicts then move on without friction or resentment.
The most “drama” comes from Emily’s professional struggles, as – much like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The X-Files – brand marketing presents her with a “monster of the week” to defeat. In every episode, she has to use her talent and sunny disposition to ensure social media strategies are executed with aplomb. To say that this is as thrilling as watching paint dry would be a disservice to the many excellent shades of paint.
Aside from brazen product placement, Emily in Paris is committed to being pretty. The legendary Patricia Fields’s costume department is clearly having fun – garbing Emily in neonyellow coats and huge black hats, but her styling lacks character. Field’s work on the character of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City (a show that was also created by Emily in Paris’s Darren Star) spoke to her specific personality, which was entirely different to the styles apportioned to Miranda, Samantha or Charlotte. Emily, Sylvie, Mindy and co have a broader aesthetic and almost all of their clothing could be swapped with each other with little character incoherence. To make matters worse, the high-end ensembles seem to have eaten up all the budget as the city’s portrayal is shoddy, confined to a handful of repeat locations and the occasional glimpse of the Eiffel Tower light show.
To get annoyed by TV as blandly pleasant as Emily in Paris does at times feel like kicking a puppy. But don’t we deserve better? As a show, it seems desperate to have more edge, peppering the dialogue with the odd swear word or reference to kink – and yet the height
of Emily’s embrace of her own sexuality is a rendezvous with her handsome boyfriend on a roof, something she’ll bring up ad nauseam as a sign that she’s becoming just like these debauched French folk. But her Disney princess approach to romance and unrelenting sweetness feels insidious – the centre of a series that has repackaged feminine empowerment with a pretty bow but is afraid to make its protagonist too messy, too horny or too flawed. It’s an Instagram filter on top of a Vaseline covered lens which renders its protagonist and its city charmless.
Season four had an opportunity to embrace soapiness and take in some of the telenovela fun that made romcom series Jane the Virgin such a joy. Higher stakes plotlines about missing people, #MeToo and Michelin stars are hinted at then go nowhere. By the end of five episodes, things are pretty much exactly where they started, save a deadeyed conversation or two and an adjusted price point on a face cream. A truly unhinged cameo from celebrated playwright and actor Jeremy O Harris does inject a little energy, but largely highlights the idiosyncrasy that is so desperately lacking elsewhere.
The only consistently fun element is finding out what Luc is up to: from his wonderfully weird romance aboard a houseboat with a Michelin inspector to marketing ideas that largely seem to be fraud, spending time with him is never a chore. His plot lines are just as inconsequential as everyone else’s, but he has a knack for physical comedy that means his character shines brighter than his co-stars.
Perhaps that’s the most damning thing of all to say about Emily in Paris. It’s not that it is about nothing; it’s not that it is bland, boring and has an obnoxious hyper-fixation with the empty trappings of wealth. It’s because creator Darren Star has made the only engaging character a middle-aged white dude who is succeeding despite phoning it in at his job. And that is not about nothing; that’s very telling.
• Emily in Paris is on Netflix now.