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And so, as the fifth series of Netflix‘S Emily in Paris Inevitably turning up just in time to become the backdrop for millions of festive hangovers, our plucky American marketer continues his European journey of self-discovery, like a booktalk rip-off of Henry James’s heroine. Paris? So last season. Now Lily CollinsThe impeccably dressed, immaculate power-bob is Emily Ready to conquer the capital of Italy.
It’s been noted several times that Collins bears a striking resemblance to Audrey Hepburn (a scene in which she runs after a bus to chase a lost silk scarf reminds me of that Uncanny Valley Galaxy chocolate ad from a few years back, which featured a CGI Hepburn, which shows how weird this show still feels).
but this is not roman holiday For our girl. Emily – for reasons that, thanks to the amnesiac quality of the series, are initially impossible to remember – has arrived here to lead the Italian outpost of Agence Grato, a marketing company owned by her boss Sylvie (Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu, still very charming, still a little creepy).
Expository dialogue does much of the heavy lifting when it comes to scene setting; Everything explained for those of us with one eye on the TV and one eye on the phone. “It’s my first day running the Rome office and I still have to prepare for the meeting with your mother!” Emily helps her latest boyfriend, Marcello (Eugenio Franceschini), in the first episode.
Her skill at attracting men who embody the national stereotypes of every country she visits remains unmatched. Marcelo is a tall, dark and handsome momma’s boy who works for the family cashmere brand, and whose idea of a great day out is to go truffle hunting in the woods (he and his family are, of course, outfitted with all the niceties of Dolmio puppets). I’m looking forward to the inevitable future series where Emily will romance a bullfighter from Spain or a Volvo-driving Ikea employee named Carl Carlsson from Sweden. Meanwhile, her other former lovers, the French Gabriel (Lucas Bravo) and the English Alfie (Lucien Laviscount), now seem to hang out together in some kind of pan-European group for scorned men.
As usual, subplots and set pieces are thrown at us and then snatched away with alarming frequency; After all, it’s a beautiful, paper-doll world in which actions have no consequences, character development is the equivalent of a new haircut, and the story appears to be an excuse to shoehorn in various references to consumer brands.
case in point? An episode where Emily grapples with “intimacy issues” while also dealing with a tricky new campaign for lingerie brand… Intimissimi. Another plot point about a pitch gone wrong exists only so that one of Emily’s friends can tell her: “You disgraced Fendi!” And just when the show is on the verge of saying something interesting about the dynamics of Sylvie’s open marriage, the character runs away to jump on a speedboat, which she drives across the harbor like a perfume ad.
New heights of literalness are reached when Emily’s best friend Mindy (Ashley Park) sings Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso” while sipping a giant martini glass at the launch of a new coffee-flavored vodka. The excitement of the park makes it worth doing; Her performance is an undeniable bright spot, and includes Minnie Driver as an imposing “princess without a portfolio” who has married into Italian royalty but can’t afford the upkeep of the family castle. To finance her lavish life, she is constantly doing incredible Insta-sponcons. Driver is perfect as this glamorous grifter, providing what feels like a much-needed injection of camp, self-aware energy.
However, it is different to experience Emily in Paris It feels like you are allowing your brain to come back to real time. Watching it is like reliving those Barbie games I used to play with my sisters, where all our characters wore amazing outfits and events followed a kind of dream logic. However, there is one scene that I couldn’t help but feel connected to. On a video call with her Paris clients, Emily delivers a pitch that’s really awesome, even by her low standards. The reaction of Parisians? To pull the plug and turn off the screen completely.