‘Envious – Season 4’ Review: A Messy, Honest Ending for Netflix’s Breakout Series

After four seasons tracking the ups, downs, and relentless neuroses of its protagonist, Envious —one of the most successful Argentine series of recent years— reaches its conclusion. Starring Griselda Siciliani and created by Carolina Aguirre for Netflix, the show became a hit despite centering on a character who is, for most of its run, deeply self-absorbed: egocentric, narcissistic, chaotic, and emotionally volatile—someone who irritates everyone around her while constantly frustrating herself.

A prototype of a woman raised on outdated ideals of perfection, Vicky is a deliberately complicated character, one who shows little real evolution across the series, repeatedly falling into the same patterns—chief among them, wanting what she believes others have and she lacks. What distinguishes this fourth season—arguably the show’s strongest—is that, for the first time (and only intermittently), Vicky begins to look beyond her own navel, recognizing that happiness might take many forms, not all of them aligned with traditional expectations.

The season’s central arc (spoilers for Season 3) follows Vicky adjusting to life with Bruno, the nine-year-old son from a previous relationship of her partner Matías (Esteban Lamothe). Bruno (Dante Barbera) was raised by a mother (played by Julieta Cardinali) who is almost the opposite of Vicky: laid-back, impulsive, disorganized, and seemingly more focused on anything other than her child. That contrast—or rather, the attempt to reconcile those two life philosophies—drives a season in which Vicky is once again forced to confront her narrow definition of happiness.

Bruno is sweet and likable, but often lost in his own world: he doesn’t listen, breaks things, leaves messes behind, and resists the tightly structured routines that an overly enthusiastic and hyper-organized Vicky designs in a desperate attempt to win his affection. This “self-work” becomes central to her therapy sessions with Fernanda (Lorena Vega), as does her struggle to adapt to a family dynamic that bears little resemblance to her childhood fantasies.

Beyond that, the season explores her sister Carolina’s (Pilar Gamboa) relationship crisis with her estranged husband Fermín (Adrián Lakerman), complicated by the presence of a third party. Vicky’s friends (played by Bárbara Lombardo, Violeta Urtizberea, and Marina Bellati) take on increasingly secondary roles, with the exception of Bellati’s character, who faces an intense relationship crisis triggered by her partner’s pregnancy.

In a predictable return—one of the few moments where Vicky does anything resembling actual work—Nicolás (Benjamín Vicuña) reenters her life, bringing with him a shared professional project that quickly becomes a temptation for Vicky to relapse into her “bad habits” with a toxic ex. Meanwhile, a subplot involving her mother Teresa (Susana Pampín) gains unexpected weight and ultimately plays a key role in reshaping how Vicky imagines her own family future.

Across its four seasons, Envidiosa managed—more often than not—to transcend its more conventional TV instincts (and there are plenty) and its somewhat narrow, almost old-fashioned view of womanhood. It does so largely thanks to a cast of outstanding actresses who elevate even the most implausible situations. Siciliani, in particular, is a formidable comedic performer: she navigates Vicky’s erratic temperament with precision, extracting humor from her constant agitation while also lending the character an unexpected warmth—especially in her most vulnerable moments.

Much of the show’s strength lies in the chemistry between Siciliani and her female co-stars. In those scenes—the male characters, including Lamothe’s, are comparatively underwritten—Envious compensates for what it may lack in originality with sheer performance craft. Watching Siciliani and Gamboa argue or spiral through chaotic situations often feels like a masterclass in comic acting, even when the material itself falls short of their abilities.

On a broader social level, Envious seems to reflect—consciously or not—a certain shift in cultural sensibilities. The series never ventured beyond a comfortably upper-middle-class bubble, where financial concerns are largely absent and the outside world barely intrudes. But that insulation is, to some extent, baked into the romantic comedy genre the show inhabits. What proves more compelling is Vicky’s halting, often frustrating attempts to see beyond herself.

She is, at her core, a narcissistic character whose engagement with the world is filtered almost entirely through her own needs and desires—including her understanding of love. Over four seasons—sometimes very funny, often exasperating—her arc moves, however gradually, toward a broader perspective: one that allows for empathy, for complexity, and for the recognition that happiness rarely exists in isolation from others.