In many ways, Sex Education was a show that came out at the right place and at the right time. Filling the junk void of Netflix’s uniquely terrible catalogue of teen shows that evoke dystopia more than any remote feeling of relatability, Sex Education’s salacious premise combined with its ragtag cast resulted in a feeling best described as unfamiliar nostalgia. Over time, however, the show has fallen into the dearth of shows typically dumped on the streaming platform’s massive content library, steadily declining in viewership and quality with each successive season. This season is no different, attempting to evoke the sense of familiarity of the first season despite ultimately evoking vicarious embarrassment through its increasingly ludicrous attempts at bridging its gap between drama and comedy.  

Diverting away from its established habitat from the first three seasons of the show, Sex Education initially begins to establish a relationship between several characters during the prolonged time period between the third season: Otis and Maeve are now long-distance dating while the majority of the students from Moordale adjust to the new environment of Cavendish College, whose socially progressive façade seems to exist largely to continue parading the show as a marker of forward-thinking diverse shows. The cruel irony is that in its attempts to expand its cultural fanbase through its representation of diverse groups, from non-binary, genderfluid, the deaf, and other minorities, the show has ultimately only made more disposable characters which are ancillary to the true nature of the plot. 

This seems to be a characteristic flaw going back to the second and third seasons, which introduce new characters that are left mostly unmentioned in subsequent seasons (ex: Rahim, Hope) as a way of incorporating representation of sexual and racial identity without altering the main cast of characters who are predominantly straight, cis, and/or anglicized. Though it’s well-intentioned, it also calls into question the nature of these supercilious characters as mere props for the main characters (and indeed the show by extension), diminishing any impact they could have had on the show. We’re subjugated to explore the sexual awakenings of a pretty homogenous group of teenagers, whose narrative arcs are wiped dry from the explorations uncovered in the first two seasons, resulting in recycled plots and increasingly elaborate and unrelatable constructions to act as plot fodder. 

Take Eric’s arc, for example. What was previously three seasons of a fairly comprehensive look at the effects of being true to your identity in a conservative world (both religiously and socially), this season returns with a ham-fisted and predictable tale of religious identity and sexual orientation clashing with each other. This is true for almost every member of the original cast, as we are still dealing with Maeve and Otis’s exhausting will they/won’t they relationship, Adam’s struggle to find solace in his life in both his relationship with his parents and a life he wishes to lead, and Ruby’s attempts to balance her popular girl persona with her desire to be kind. This increasingly tiring parade of morally perfunctory tales alienates audiences with their bothersome undulation, now tasked with a gargantuan expanded cast to flesh out as well. The problem, of course, is that by expanding its cast to subserviently act as representation of youth identity in our increasingly modern and ever-changing world, they feel and function as mere plot devices to further our main cast’s actual journeys. Abbi and Roman, the show’s new trans representation, don’t get much depth beyond being figures for Cal to view as successful transitioning. O, Cavendish’s own youth sex therapist, conflicts with Otis on numerous issues, resulting in a war between the two that ends in the most cliché way possible. Joanna, Jean’s annoying newly introduced younger sister, bonds with Jean as she deals with her postpartum depression. Despite having the cast size of something akin to War and Peace, the final season’s paltry eight episodes can only do so much. Yet even the words “so much” seem ill-fitting, as the season largely transports characters around haphazardly and without much care due to a lack of time and space to genuinely explore these issues. 

In hindsight, Sex Education’s first season seems more like a fluke than the start of a genuinely great show. What began as a series attempting to shed light on taboo topics with brutal honesty while also comedically highlighting the fun energy of its quirky characters has quickly turned into a cesspool of shoddy representation for diversity points. I think back to the second season where Aimee is sexually assaulted. Rather than playing that arc up for the entire season, we see glimpses of her character slowly being perturbed by the constant reminder of the assault, which culminates in a warm, if slightly simplified, completion of Aimee’s characterisation. Although similarly culturally relevant, the act does not feel included simply because the show wanted to feel clever for tackling assault. Rather, it’s powerful because many women do experience these incidents and feel unrepresented by the media currently shown. It made a story around an experience, and not the other way around. Dismissing most of the new narrative arcs in this season feels wrong on a certain level, but it’s hard to suggest that these new arcs evoke true, lived-in experiences from the authenticity and effort put on-screen (even if they do). Every character, new or old, is filled with a myriad of different struggles that the show races through in order to “do justice” to as many issues as possible. But this “justice” never extends beyond a basic “this issue exists, and it makes people sad”, which makes me question the necessity of even depicting these problems at all. While the show has its moments, it progressively earns fewer of these, culminating in a final season that feels artificial and lazy. Alas, this once-great show’s goodbye is a lot more arduous and painful than it should be. 

4/10