In Defense of Friends from College: How Netflix’s Series Nails the Travails of Keeping Old Friends in New Lives
Photo: Netflix
You don’t have to look much further than the soundtrack for proof of concept.
Netflix’s Friends from College features Nineties accompaniment surgically manufactured from the Counting Crows, Mazzy Star, Oasis, Cornershop, The Sundays and more—if you’re of a certain age, it’s almost guaranteed to get you thinking about people and places you may not have thought about in a long time. The old roommate from college, the high school crush you’re still friends with on Facebook, the people that may not actually fit in your life anymore, but remain part of it nonetheless. And you still love them, both the songs and the people.
There are few greater influences that shape us than those we choose to surround ourselves with. No matter how far we go in life, it can be hard—and sometimes impossible—to move beyond the person you were while figuring out the person you’d become. It’s people that remind us of those versions of ourselves. The younger, more ambitious and idealistic men and women we were, before marriages (and divorces), careers, disillusionment, greying hair and wrinkles started complicating things.
That’s the crux of Friends From College, a theme it explores deftly across its eight-episode first season, despite a critical response that can best be described as less than kind. (Read Paste’s review here.) No, Friends from College isn’t perfect, but the series’ scattered narrative accentuates that theme, rather than burying it. Many critics took aim at the characters themselves, noting the all-star cast, which includes Keegan-Michael Key, Cobie Smulders, Fred Savage, Nat Faxon, Annie Parisse and Jae Such Park, is wasted on these developmentally arrested adults, and that their stories fail to live up to the concept’s potential. I suppose it’s all about the type of story you’re expecting the series to tell.
The real story of Friends from College is the effect we have on people, and the effect they have on us. At the start of the series, the gang is largely splintered and living their own, dysfunctional-but-mostly-normal lives apart from one another (except for the affair between Key’s Ethan and Parisse’s Sam, of course). That all changes when Ethan and Lisa move back to New York and get the gang back together. Despite wherever and whoever they might be all these years later, none of it matters when the group reunites: Sam still condescendingly calls Lisa (Smulders) a “freshie,” dating back to their time in college (and buys her a bed, of all things, just to remind her she’s richer); the guys still childishly grab one another’s balls as a juvenile “secret” handshake, for God’s sake. But who doesn’t revert to one’s younger self when joined once again with old friends? (Okay, maybe not grabbing genitalia to say hello, but still.)