Girls season four – when Lena Dunham's show came of age
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Version 0 of 1. When Girls first arrived in 2012, on a wave of hype, it was dismissed by some on the grounds that the characters were selfish, pampered airheads who deserved to die. But on Monday night, as season four of the HBO dramedy came to a close on Sky Atlantic in the UK, something happened that would have horrified those season-one fledglings: they grew up. As a result, this fourth season of Girls was its best yet. The bad relationships and poor decisions left more at stake, as the show acutely documented that screech into adulthood that you think has happened at the end of your teens, until it happens again, but harder, in the middle of your twenties. Hannah Horvath, the central character played by Lena Dunham, gave up on some dreams. Hannah has always been wearyingly self-analytical, with the crucial caveat that she’s tended to be wrong about herself. It took what seemed like a quirky diversion to Iowa to study creative writing to make Hannah see the truth all wannabe writers fear: she isn’t a writer. By the end of the season, Hannah had begun work as a teacher and had finally split from Adam, her one true love since season one. The story of Adam rejecting, then being rejected by, Hannah showed them growing emotionally, but at different speeds and with sudden leaps forward that left the other person lost. Adam Driver was already Girls’ breakout star, but he surpassed himself here, completing Adam’s transition from a sort of magical bear with his own bulletproof take on life to a bewildered young man, burned by the brutal learning curve of a fling with hyper-honest artist Mimi-Rose (Gillian Jacobs). Related: Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt and scripted comedy's push for positivity Everyone went through it. Marnie’s doomed engagement to intense poser Desi; Ray’s realisation that he loves Marnie; Jessa literally chasing after cosmic bellend Ace (a delicious cameo by Zachary Quinto); Shoshanna’s series of failed job interviews. Everyone had delusions broken. Does it really make sense that these increasingly divergent people keep returning to their gang? Yes, because those friendships are with people who have seen the real, original you. They know you’re bluffing. (Hannah’s final line: “I’m faking everything … ”) Similarly, beneath the hipness and hype, Girls has always known precisely who its characters are. Now the heavier stuff’s happening to them, it’s reaping the rewards. Not that the show has lost what made it so thrillingly fresh. Dunham’s ability to sketch a situation or a character in a way that seems outlandish, but says exactly what it needs to, was sharper than ever. She can still toss out a perfect comic vignette when you least expect it, such as the curveball episode focused on Hannah’s parents and their friends, which was like a 1980s Woody Allen miniature. It served a purpose, of course: Hannah’s dad coming out as gay was the moment when her folks stopped being a source of cosy comfort and revealed themselves to be ordinary people, in pain. But then, season four wasn’t all Dunham. How to interpret the run of seven episodes in the middle where she wasn’t billed as writing or directing? Testament to the US creative team system? A mature showrunner who doesn’t need to hog the credits any more? It can’t be easy to find people who can confidently borrow the reins of a show that seemed so authored. Still, however it happened, Dunham and co delivered a bold but logical development of the original show. With its fourth season, Girls came of age. |