“Emilie in Paris”? More like Emily in a coma.
Netflix Season 3 fish– Comedy series out of the water about a simpleton from Chicago who moves to France and causes a commotion is total and shattering boredom. All 10 episodes are so boring that you can’t even watch them with hate, because hate requires passion.
The time has come for the exhausting Emily to pack up and leave France for good.
When “Emily in Paris,” by “Sex and the City” and “Younger” creator Darren Star, premiered in October 2020, viewers were bitterly divided. Some – including me – found it an effervescent and sexy escape during the lingering lockdowns; while an angry mob of dissidents decried the show as a campy insult to the French. (What’s wrong with that?)
Lily Collins’ Emily strutted around the city in couture, proved herself to Parisians with recklessness and started a hot flirtation with the suave French chef Gabriel (Lucas Bravo).
A year later, season two has stayed the course and added a jolt of energy in the form of studious British banker Alfie (Lucien Laviscount), who puts a wedge between Em and his kitchen-loving hold. But Netflix just couldn’t handle a three.
This time we get…workplace politics and singer Mindy (Ashley Park) having an affair with a friend from boarding school. The effect is The Ambien. The tedious office shenanigans involving the Savoir group, the retread and coaster relationship, and all the clumsy things Kate Walsh does as oblivious American boss Madeline melt the mind like so much Gruyère.
Season 3 is mostly about Madeline abandoning Savoir, then desperately wanting Savoir back into the fold, while Savoir’s French employees have secretly formed their own separate agency. Is it “Emily in Paris” or “Mergers and Acquisitions”?
I grew tired of the marketing pitches of Emily, a supposed industry whiz with the most obvious ideas in the world, trying ketchup on your burger. Every time she is presented with a product, she exclaims, “Let’s sell it as luxury and boutique!” and then it’s a wild success. Every fucking time.
And now she doesn’t even bother with boss Sylvie. The show’s best cast has always been Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu as Emily’s Parisian manager. Now Sylvie half respects Emily, but still puts on airs. Indecisive and dull.
But what about fashion? It used to be fun to look at Patricia Field’s brightly colored clothes, but now they look more and more like the wardrobe of a Cirque du Soleil clown in town.
And steamy romance was once the plot’s saving grace. Nothing else mattered as long as viewers, devouring their pints of Ben & Jerry’s, could imagine themselves moving to Paris and getting cozy with a magnificent chef whose restaurant sits conveniently below their apartment. Gabriel’s role made Bravo a star (he later played Julia Roberts’ young French lover in “Ticket To Paradise”) and he and Emily de Collins had cute chemistry. At this point we all say “Will they please stop?”
It’s also sad that Gabriel, either because of the newly womp-womp character or Bravo’s acting choices, is suddenly undercut and sparkless – even when he and Emily are alone without the pressure of his engagement to Camille. So, the center pair of the show is a wash.
There were bombs in the season finale, and those too had all the force of a puff of smoke.
And then there’s sleepy Emily. She’s been living in Paris for a year, has a decent, influential job and a clique of French friends, but she’s still acting like a doofus with an upside-down track record. She doesn’t grow, she doesn’t change, she whines.
‘Emily in Paris’ has already been renewed for a fourth season – but I’m asking for the eviction.