The wheels have come off Selling Sunset
To everything its season, and the walls are peeling on the fifth season of Selling Sunset, which has just dropped on Netflix.
It was the surprise hit of lockdown but that was two years and a war ago. Now tumbleweed blows through this tale of estate agents selling “dream properties” in designer clothes in the city of angels.
The landscape from the identical $10 million houses looks arid and desolate, waiting for wildfire season. The love affair between “star broker” Jason Oppenheim and “lovable girlnext-door” Chrishell Stause – the emotional heart of the season – is already over in “real” life.
Davina’s $75 million property is still on the market and will remain so. (No views of the desolate landscape.) Five seasons in and none of the women have learnt, in their six-inch heels, to climb stairs.
Instead, they are busy trying to destroy what remains of supervillain Christine Quinn – half filler, half face – who has just returned from maternity leave to what is increasingly looking like a potential lawsuit for wrongful dismissal. All this gives Selling Sunset a drowsy pathos it never sought. It may be depressing, but it’s art at last.