SFamously a “show about nothing,” Einfeld proves that you can make classic television that turns the minutiae of daily life in a city into something fascinating. But after four seasons of Emily in Paris, it feels like the show is about less than nothing; it has turned into a black hole devoid of plot, charisma, and intrigue.
The first half of Emily in Paris’ fourth season consists of five episodes in which—and I cannot stress this enough—nothing happens. The titular Emily (Lily Collins) is in Paris, working as a marketing executive with a flair for managing social media for her strict boss Sylvie (Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu) 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 could provide plenty of drama, but there’s absolutely nothing at stake. All parties involved can have serious conversations about their romantic conflicts and then move on without friction or resentment.
Most of the “drama” comes from Emily’s professional struggles, as – similar to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The X-Files – brand marketing presents her with a “monster of the week” to defeat. In each episode, she must use her talent and cheerful disposition to ensure her social media strategies are executed with aplomb. To say this is as exciting as watching paint dry would be an understatement to the many excellent shades on display.
Brash product placement aside, Emily in Paris makes a point of being pretty. The legendary Patricia Fields’ costume department is clearly having fun—dressing Emily in neon yellow coats and enormous black hats, but her style lacks character. Fields’ work on the character of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City (a show also created by Emily in Paris’ Darren Star) spoke to her particular personality, which was entirely different from the styles attributed to Miranda, Samantha, or Charlotte. Emily, Sylvie, Mindy, and co. have a broader aesthetic, and almost all of their clothing items could be swapped out for one another without much character incoherence. To make matters worse, the high-end ensembles seem to have eaten up the entire budget, as the depiction of the city is shoddy, limited to a handful of repeated locations and the occasional glimpse of the Eiffel Tower light show.
Getting annoyed at a TV series as boring as Emily in Paris sometimes feels like kicking a puppy. But don’t we deserve better? The series seems desperate for more bite, peppering the dialogue with the odd swear word or reference to fetishes — and yet the climax of Emily’s embrace of her own sexuality is a rendezvous with her attractive boyfriend on a rooftop, something she cites ad nauseam as a sign that she’s becoming just like those depraved French people. But its Disney princess approach to romance and relentless sweetness feels insidious — the centerpiece of a series that repackages female 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 a Vaseline-covered lens that robs its protagonist and her city of charm.
Season four was a chance to embrace soap opera and capture some of the telenovela fun that made romantic comedy Jane the Virgin such a delight. Higher-stakes storylines about missing persons, #MeToo and Michelin stars are hinted at, but then go nowhere. By the end of five episodes, everything is pretty much where it started, save for a dead-eyed conversation or two and an adjusted price for a face cream. A truly wacky cameo from acclaimed playwright and actor Jeremy O’Harris injects a little energy into the series, but mostly highlights the quirkiness so desperately lacking elsewhere.
The only consistently entertaining element is finding out what Luc is up to: from his wonderfully offbeat houseboat romance with a Michelin inspector to marketing ideas that mostly seem to be scams, spending time with him is never a chore. His storylines are as inconsequential as anyone else’s, but he has a knack for physical comedy that makes his character shine brighter than his co-stars.
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That’s perhaps the most damning thing you can say about Emily in Paris. It’s not about nothing; it’s not bland, boring, and sickeningly hyper-fixated on the empty trappings of wealth. It’s because creator Darren Star has made the only appealing character a middle-aged white guy who succeeds despite his half-hearted work. And it’s not about nothing; that’s telling.
