One of the themes of the recent Paris Olympics was people across the globe setting aside their differences and coming together to celebrate shared values. Of course, Emily in Paris achieved that goal years ago by uniting half the world in their loathing of this unapologetically superficial romcom about an annoying American publicist who moves to France, where she cheerfully wrecks a relationship and almost drives her bosses out of business.
But for everyone who froths at the chops at the sight of Lily Collins in a fashion-forward beret, there is someone else for whom Emily in Paris represents perfect comfort viewing – dramatic yet inconsequential, easy on the eye and light on the brain. It’s a TV bon-bon – an occasional treat with little nutritional value yet which goes down smoothly. Hating it is like hating chocolate or the 2 Johnnies: it isn’t going anywhere, so there’s no point in getting too worked up.
Series four (Netflix from Thursday) finds Emily still merrily sowing chaos. Season three ended with Emily’s boyfriend ditching her after our heroine’s French bestie dumped her fiancé at the top of the aisle, having accused him of secretly being in love with Emily. None of this was untrue, but Camille (Camille Razat) neglected to mention she’d been snogging artist Sofia (as spied on by Emily). That’s quite a pile-up, and the new season is straight into the action as Emily tries to patch things up with likely lad (ex) beau Alfie (Lucien Laviscount). Meanwhile, Gabriel (Lucas Bravo) is confused about his feelings for Emily – and doesn’t know what to do about Camille, who has jilted him even though they are expecting a baby together.
Romantic betrayal, unwanted pregnancy, closeted kissing – there is a version of Emily in Paris that is a relationship horror movie. However, Collins’s featherweight performance keeps the tone breezy – as you would expect and perhaps demand of a show created by Sex and the City guru Darren Star.
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As ever, Emily in Paris is best enjoyed with the sound turned down. It looks lovely, and while the actual Paris is, of course, far grittier and features fewer people in pastel headgear, there is something calming about the candy-cane colour scheme.
Collins, to her credit, understands exactly what sort of disposable faff she’s starring in, and her performance is full of comedic zing, even as the story goes to potentially dark places. Silly, slight and full of sparkle, it’s the equivalent of binging on marzipan – delicious at first, too much after a while. Still, sugary treats have their place and, for that reason, Emily in Paris remains the icing-slathered jewel in Netflix’s crown.
