You Season 4’s Finale Teases Some Good Ideas, but Ultimately Ends Up Back in the Same Place
Photo: Courtesy of Netflix
The first half of You Season 4 went a bit against type for Netflix’s popular if occasionally controversial drama, casting murderer/stalker/generally terrible person Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley) as the protagonist in an Agatha Christie-style mystery, tasked with figuring out the identity of the Eat the Rich killer attempting to frame him for a series of crimes he didn’t commit. Your mileage may vary on how well this particular narrative shake-up actually worked—and whether uncomfortably positioning Joe’s character in the role of a hero/victim without really bothering to interrogate whether encouraging its audience to essentially root for and sympathize with him is actually a good idea. And, to be upfront about it, the second half of the season isn’t much better about answering these sorts of questions, but it’s at least considerably more clear-eyed about the fact that Joe’s darkness is an essential part of who he is.
The back half of You Season 4 is certainly more entertaining than its first. This run of episodes is, with a couple of exceptions we’ll get to in a moment, compulsively watchable and full of the sort of wild, bonkers twists we’ve come to expect from this show. But as viewers inevitably come to realize that most of the events we saw in the season’s first five episodes didn’t exactly unfold in the way they initially played out onscreen, Netflix’s decision to split the season in half seems increasingly bizarre. How much more impactful and/or shocking would many of these revelations have been in a world where a month hadn’t passed between them? When viewers didn’t have to struggle to remember the details of those suddenly key throwaway scenes? (Thank goodness for narrated flashbacks, I guess. But… why?)
Season 4’s last five episodes do get a lot right. Thankfully, we’re done with most of the subplots involving Joe’s new cadre of rich aristocratic friends. Part of this is because several of them are dead now, but it’s also because the show rapidly loses interest in its previous efforts at even vaguely critiquing the lives of the idle rich. There’s an utterly momentum-killing subplot involving the relationship between influencer heiress Lady Phoebe (Tilly Keeper) and her financially strapped American playboy boyfriend Adam (Lukas Gage) who may or may not be gaslighting her to gain access to her fortune, and the show introduces Greg Kinnear as Kate’s (Charlotte Ritchie) billionaire father trying to pull the strings of his estranged daughter’s life from afar, but, thankfully, that’s about it. Instead, there’s more focus on plucky, whodunnit-loving university student Nadia (Amy-Leigh Hickman), who unfortunately finds herself increasingly entangled in the mystery of professor Jonathan Moore’s true identity, for both good and ill.
More importantly, the show thankfully jettisons the strange framing that implies Joe is some sort of victim in this season, or that he’s actually taken any real steps to becoming a better—or even, really a terribly different—person. He’s back to his absolute worst ways, and though both he and the show spend a prodigious amount of time trying to compartmentalize or explain away what a monster he is, the visual evidence sort of speaks for itself. And at this point, it’s hard to argue that You as a whole might not just be better off if it stopped trying to give Joe excuses for why he’s terrible and just fully leaned into the fact that he is.
Four seasons into this show, is there anyone still watching who’s hoping for a redemption arc for this character, or even a coherent explanation for his worst behavior? Probably not. Yet, for some reason, You keeps on trying to give us one—from the sad childhood backstory they introduced during Season 3 to the ways this current outing often seems content to pretend that Joe is somehow being driven to commit terrible acts by people and forces beyond his control, the show is strangely reluctant to acknowledge the fact that their leading man isn’t anyone its audience should be sympathizing with. Joe Goldberg shouldn’t be anyone’s hero. Or even anti-hero for that matter. (Sorry, Taylor Swift.)