Woke Television:

The Manipulative Agenda of Tina Fey's The Four Seasons

In an era where television often feels like a battleground for ideological agendas, Tina Fey’s The Four Seasons on Netflix stands out as a particularly brazen example of "woke" storytelling. Marketed as a heartfelt dramedy about three middle-aged couples navigating friendship and marriage, the series—based on Alan Alda’s 1981 film of the same name—seems less interested in authentic human connection and more in pushing a conformist narrative dressed up as progressive enlightenment. As I watched, I couldn’t shake the feeling that The Four Seasons was trying to manipulate its audience into celebrating a specific worldview—one that prioritizes sexual fluidity, dismantles traditional family values, and enforces culturally sanctioned norms. Let me present why I think this series feels so troublingly agenda-driven.

At the heart of The Four Seasons is a trio of couples: two straight, white, middle-aged pairs—Kate and Jack (Tina Fey and Will Forte) and Nick and Anne (Steve Carell and Kerri Kenney-Silver)—and a gay couple, Danny and Claude (Colman Domingo and Marco Calvani). While the series delves into the relational struggles of all three, its depiction of Danny and Claude’s relationship is strikingly different in tone and focus. The gay couple is frequently shown in bed, half-clothed, sharing erotic kisses, and, in one particularly bold scene, undressing a third man they’ve met at a gay bar for a three-way encounter. This level of sexual explicitness is jarring, especially when contrasted with the straight couples, who talk about sex but rarely display comparable physical intimacy on screen.

This disparity feels exploitative. Why are Danny and Claude’s intimate moments so front-and-center, while Kate and Jack or Nick and Anne are spared similar exposure? It’s as if the writers are intent on “normalizing” gay sex for a heterosexual audience, pushing viewers to not only accept but celebrate the sexual lifestyle of the gay couple. Representation of gay love is one thing—and entirely welcome—but the series’ fixation on their eroticism feels like a deliberate attempt to desensitize audiences to explicit same-sex intimacy. It’s not about equality; it’s about provocation, cloaked in the guise of progress. Some online voices echo this discomfort, with one X user lamenting that the series “over sexualized the gay couple,” arguing it betrays the spirit of the original film, which focused on emotional bonds over physicality. While such comments don’t prove the series’ intent, they suggest I’m not alone in sensing a manipulative edge.

The Four Seasons doesn’t stop at showcasing Danny and Claude’s sex life; it also weaves a narrative that undermines traditional family structures. A notable plot point reveals that Kate, now married to Jack, once dated Danny, one of the gay couple. This detail isn’t treated as a casual anecdote but as a subtle endorsement of sexual fluidity—a concept increasingly central to woke ideology. The implication is that sexual orientation is malleable, a choice that can shift based on whim or circumstance. This framing aligns with a broader cultural push to blur the lines of identity, suggesting that fixed notions of family, marriage, or even personal orientation are outdated constructs ripe for deconstruction.

This approach feels like a direct assault on traditional family values, which prioritize stable, committed relationships as the bedrock of society. By presenting sexual preference as fluid, the series subtly encourages viewers to question the permanence of their own identities and relationships. It’s not just about depicting diverse experiences; it’s about promoting a worldview where nothing is sacred, and everything is negotiable. The absence of any counterbalance—say, a couple who proudly upholds traditional values—reinforces the sense that the series is less a story than a sermon. Online chatter on X reflects similar frustrations, with one user complaining that the show checks “every box” of woke tropes, including the token inclusion of a gay couple to signal diversity without depth. Again, these sentiments are not definitive, but they highlight a shared unease with the series’ ideological leanings.

Perhaps most insidious is The Four Seasons’ insistence on cultural conformity. On the surface, the series critiques the pressures of middle-aged life—empty nests, fading passions, midlife crises. But beneath this, it champions a specific blueprint for “acceptable” relationships, one that aligns with progressive ideals yet paradoxically mirrors conservative compliance in its rigidity. Characters are judged not by their authenticity but by how well they adhere to the group’s expectations, whether it’s maintaining friendships, navigating divorces, or parenting adult children. Deviate from the norm, and you’re ostracized, as seen when Nick’s new, younger girlfriend, Ginny (Erika Henningsen), is mocked as a caricature of millennial excess rather than embraced as an individual.

This push for conformity feels like a betrayal of natural freedoms. Instead of celebrating the messy, unique ways people live and love, The Four Seasons seems to lecture its audience on what relationships should look like—open, fluid, and socially approved. This aligns with the woke agenda’s broader tendency to replace personal liberty with collective mandates, where dissent is framed as backwardness. The series’ casual profanity and its portrayal of sex as a transactional expression of desire rather than a sacred act of love further erode any sense of deeper meaning, leaving viewers with a hollow vision of human connection.

My discomfort with The Four Seasons stems from its cumulative effect: the over-sexualized gay couple, the dismissal of traditional values, and the subtle enforcement of cultural norms all point to a series more interested in shaping ideology than telling a story. Reviews of the show, while mixed, often praise its “modern” take on relationships, with some critics noting the inclusion of a gay, interracial couple as a progressive update to Alda’s original. Yet few address the manipulative undertones I’ve felt so strongly about. The series’ high viewership—11.9 million views globally, per reports—suggests it’s resonating, but with whom, and why? Is it genuinely connecting with audiences, or is it simply the latest piece of content engineered to nudge us toward a predetermined worldview?

I’m not alone in my suspicions. Posts on X have called out the series for its “woke” checklist, accusing it of pandering with stereotypical diversity and betraying the original film’s nuanced exploration of friendship. These voices, while not conclusive, reflect a growing fatigue with media that feels more like propaganda than entertainment. The Four Seasons may wear the trappings of a Tina Fey comedy—sharp dialogue, stellar cast—but its heart beats to the rhythm of an agenda that seeks to conform rather than liberate.

In the end, The Four Seasons leaves me questioning not just its motives but the state of television itself. When stories prioritize ideology over authenticity, we lose the chance to see ourselves reflected in all our complexity. Woke television, as exemplified here, doesn’t just entertain—it manipulates, urging us to applaud a world where freedom is traded for conformity, and love is reduced to a performance. We deserve better.

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