Review: 'In Treatment - Season Four' Compelling, But Wildly Uneven

It's been over a decade since HBO aired the final episode of its third season of "In Treatment." Based on the Israeli series, "BeTipul," it was a fairly minimalistic, intimate drama, primarily consisting of scenes in which two characters sit in a room and work through their many, many complicated feelings in the midst of therapy sessions. It's a difficult sell for most viewers, especially considering that it originally aired five nights a week, with Dr. Paul Weston (Gabriel Byrne) seeing specific patients Mondays through Thursdays before ultimately having to face his own personal demons with Dr. Gina Toll (Dianne Wiest) on Fridays. (As one would rightfully assume, this is not a show that anyone would consider a light form of escapism.) Yet, despite less than stellar ratings, the show was universally acclaimed by critics, Byrne, Wiest, and co-star Glynn Turman won Emmys for their exceptional performances, and it developed a small, but beloved, fanbase.

Now, 11 years later, it couldn't feel more appropriate for the niche series to return. After being cooped up in our homes for over a year as a result of COVID-19, we're all going through a form of collective trauma unlike anything we've experienced in our lives, and even though some of us are on the brink of returning to some sense of normalcy, it's impossible to fully cope with the weight of the pandemic when we're still very much in the midst of it. For me, the first three seasons of "In Treatment" weren't just remarkable television; they helped me through one of the most severe stages of depression in my life, and while this reboot is messier and more contrived than its previous outings, it's been undeniably cathartic to return to this show during such dark, difficult times.

Filling in for Gabriel Byrne as the central therapist this time around is the extraordinary Uzo Aduba ("Orange Is the New Black") as Brooke, who treats patients both virtually and in-person within her gorgeous, upscale home in Los Angeles. (Byrne's character is her supervisor, although he's not featured in any of the episodes that HBO provided to critics.) Making it abundantly clear that the show is set within a post-pandemic world, she meets with her first patient, Eladio (Anthony Ramos of "Hamilton" fame) over Zoom. Eladio is a Latino health care worker who is currently looking after the physically disabled son of a wealthy white family, and he's got some serious issues with their more conservative politics. He's also bipolar and suffering from severe insomnia, hoping that Brooke will be able to refer him to a psychiatrist in order to obtain a lithium prescription.

Next up is Colin (John Benjamin Hickey, "The Normal Heart"), a caucasian tech guru who has just been released from prison for committing wire fraud. He's vulgar, breaks out into startling outbursts, and is all too consumed with how others perceive him, particularly as a product of white privilege. On the opposite end of the spectrum is Laila (Quintessa Swindell, "Trinkets"), a queer 18-year-old Black woman and self-described "sex addict" who is essentially being forced into therapy by her grandmother (Charlayne Woodard) after coming out. ("Love is love, but she needs to understand that she was born Black, she was born a woman, and all of that is hard enough with... this on top of it.") Laila's initially resistant to Brooke, scolding her and Generation X for passivity about institutionalized racism, heteronormativity, and global warming, but there are more chinks in her armor than she likes to reveal, and her air of superiority is merely a smokescreen for a very scared, and insecure, teenage girl.

Lastly, we spend episodes with Brooke herself, who, like Byrne's protagonist in the previous seasons, seems to have it all together in her line of work, but is deeply emotionally wounded. She's mourning the very recent loss of her father, whom she harbored deep-seated anger towards due to a traumatic adolescent experience, struggles to maintain sobriety as a result of his passing, and is hanging out with an old flame, Adam (Joel Kinnaman), who seems to be indulging her most unhealthy tendencies. While not in therapy, per se, Brooke's episodes consist of discussions with her friend and sponsor, Rita (Liza Colón-Zayas), who becomes increasingly concerned with every visit that she's watching her friend self-destruct in slow motion, and she seems to be the only one willing to speak up about it.

The most noticeable aspect of this new season of "In Treatment" is that the psychological dilemmas that both Brooke and her patients wrestle with are, primarily, tied to parental neglect. She and Eladio wrestle with boundaries when it comes to maternal transference right after the death of her own father. (This also coincides with another reveal that I can't spoil, which is tangentially intertwined with Colin's troubles involving his ex-wife.) Laila has an absentee father, and is sick of being molded into whatever her family "expects" a young, successful Black woman to be, as opposed to her own lifestyle. ("I just keep failing... even though I don't fail at anything, because I can't!") This theme is conveyed better in some storylines than others (Eladio's being the strongest example), but as these characters continue to peel back their layers, this overarching meditation becomes more fascinatingly apparent.

It's in these personal moments with Brooke and her patients, in which they dissect who they are as people, that ring true. Unfortunately, some of the characters come off more as emblematic cyphers for our current social climate than fully fleshed-out human beings. This is especially true for Colin, who, particularly in the first two episodes, is laser-focused on being complicit in white supremacy. At one point, he asks if Brooke would consider him a misogynist if he uses the c-word, then moments later brings up the death of George Floyd by exclaiming that, if he wasn't in prison, "I would have been the first one out there on those streets!" I'm quite happy that the show has become even more diverse and progressive, but more often than not instances like these play as if the writers are aiming to hit every politically-relevant topic, as opposed to having a discussion that feels organic, and it hurts the credibility of the characters.

However, despite the occasionally uneven dialogue, the performances are superb across the board. Adubo, in particular, is phenomenal. It's no easy feat to anchor an entire show with this amount of emotional intensity, and to develop a character who's almost always required to be on the receptive end of the conversation. Brooke is as patient as a therapist as Adubo is as patient as an actor; her eyes always taking in every bit of new information with utmost empathy and even the subtlest shifts of body language speak volumes. Even when Brooke is required to go off the rails in ways that are often too melodramatic, given the composure she has with her clients, Adubo sells every bit of this woman's pain with an undeniably commanding presence. It's wonderful that she's finally landed a leading role, and one that's fully deserving of her gravitas.

If there's an air of disappointment I feel with this new reiteration of "In Treatment," in some ways, it was inevitable. Apart from "Twin Peaks: The Return," I dare someone to name another show that even came close to recapturing the magic of its initial run after being brought back from the dead. Yet, I can't deny that, even in the notes that ring false, this is a series whose renaissance feels deeply significant during this moment. I'm honestly very concerned that we're about to hit another pandemic as we gradually make it out of this one: A mental health pandemic. And if this show, flaws and all, helps people cope through their own internalized struggles during this period of history in which we're all hurting, that's still quite an achievement. As someone who's been in therapy for more than half of their life at this point, "In Treatment," in its best moments, feels like a gift.

"In Treatment" is available now on HBO/HBO Max