It was never going to be Normal People. Honestly, that was the first mistake everyone made. When Hulu and the BBC announced they were adapting Sally Rooney’s debut novel, the world expected the same lightning-in-a-bottle magic that made Paul Mescal a household name and sent silver chain sales through the roof. But the Conversations with Friends show is a different beast entirely. It’s colder. It’s more detached. It feels like watching a beautiful, slow-motion car crash through a frosted window.
If you’ve watched it, you probably have a strong opinion. You either loved the quiet, excruciating tension of Frances and Nick’s affair, or you wanted to shake every single character until their teeth rattled.
The story follows Frances, a 21-year-old university student in Dublin, and her best friend/ex-lover Bobbi. They’re spoken-word poets—which is already a specific kind of vibe—and they get entangled with an older, glamorous married couple, Melissa and Nick. What follows isn't a traditional romance. It’s a messy, often frustrating exploration of power dynamics, chronic illness, and the sheer difficulty of saying what you actually mean.
The Casting Gamble: Joe Alwyn and Alison Oliver
A lot of the discourse around the Conversations with Friends show centers on the chemistry—or lack thereof. Alison Oliver, in her debut role, captures Frances’s internal rigidity perfectly. Frances is a character who lives almost entirely in her own head, which is a nightmare to translate to screen. She’s observant to the point of self-sabotage.
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Then there’s Joe Alwyn as Nick.
People were divided. Some critics felt Alwyn was too wooden, but if you’ve read the book, Nick is supposed to be a bit of a vacuum. He’s a "trophy husband" who has checked out of his own life due to depression and a stale marriage. The chemistry between Oliver and Alwyn isn't explosive; it’s more like a shared sigh. It’s a quiet, tentative connection between two people who feel fundamentally broken.
Compare that to Jemima Kirke’s Melissa. She brings a frantic, sharp-edged energy that the show desperately needs. Every time she’s on screen, the stakes feel real. You can feel her desperation to hold onto a life that is clearly slipping through her fingers. Sasha Lane as Bobbi provides the friction. She’s loud, opinionated, and often wrong, serving as the perfect foil to Frances’s quiet calculation.
Why the Pacing Feels "Off" (And Why That Might Be the Point)
The show consists of 12 episodes, each roughly 30 minutes. Some viewers complained it felt like a three-hour movie stretched into a six-hour series. They aren't necessarily wrong. Director Lenny Abrahamson, who also handled Normal People, leaned heavily into the "Rooney-verse" aesthetic: long silences, lingering shots of dust motes, and characters staring at their phones.
It’s slow. Really slow.
But that slowness serves a purpose. It forces you to sit with the discomfort. When Frances and Nick are texting, the show makes you wait for the reply just like they do. It’s a visceral representation of modern anxiety. However, for a binge-watching audience used to high-octane drama, this meditative pace can feel like homework.
The Realism of Chronic Pain
One thing the Conversations with Friends show gets undeniably right is its portrayal of endometriosis. It’s not just a plot point; it’s a constant, looming presence in Frances’s life. The show doesn't glamorize it. We see her doubled over on the bathroom floor, the suddenness of the bleeding, and the dismissive nature of medical professionals.
It’s rare to see a prestige drama dedicate this much time to reproductive health without it being the "main" tragedy of the story. For Frances, her body is another thing she can’t control, much like her feelings for a married man. It adds a layer of vulnerability to her character that makes her coldness more understandable. She’s in pain—physically and emotionally—most of the time.
Dublin as a Character
The setting is crucial. This isn't the "O’Connell Street" tourist version of Dublin. It’s the Dublin of Trinity College, damp apartments, and expensive seaside houses in Monkstown. The cinematography captures the gray, washed-out light of Ireland in a way that feels incredibly authentic.
- The Trinity College Library
- The rocky shores of the Irish Sea
- Cramped student bedrooms with posters peeling off the walls
These locations ground the story. When the group travels to a villa in Croatia, the contrast is jarring. The bright sun and open spaces make their secrets feel even more claustrophobic. You realize these characters are bringing their baggage across borders, and no amount of Mediterranean sunlight can fix a fundamental lack of communication.
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The Problem with "Likability"
We need to talk about why people hate these characters. In the current TV climate, there’s a weird obsession with "likable" protagonists. Frances is often selfish. Bobbi is frequently pretentious. Nick is passive to a fault.
But aren't 21-year-olds often selfish and pretentious?
The Conversations with Friends show refuses to apologize for its characters' flaws. It doesn't give them a "save the cat" moment to prove they’re good people. They’re just people. This transparency is what makes the show endure in conversations years after its release. It’s a mirror to our own messy relationships and the ways we use people to feel less alone.
Comparing the Book to the Screen
If you read Sally Rooney’s prose, it’s famous for having no quotation marks. This creates a stream-of-consciousness feel where thoughts and dialogue bleed together. The TV show tries to replicate this through sound design and close-up shots, but some of the interiority is lost.
In the book, we know exactly why Frances says the biting things she says. On screen, she can sometimes come across as merely mean. This is the inherent challenge of adapting Rooney’s work. Her stories aren't about what happens; they’re about the microscopic shifts in power between two people sitting in a room.
The Ending: No Neat Bows
Without giving away every beat, the ending of the Conversations with Friends show stays true to the source material. It’s ambiguous. It’s frustrating. It suggests that these characters haven't necessarily learned their lesson, but they’ve changed anyway.
Life doesn't always have a third-act climax where everyone realizes their mistakes and grows. Sometimes, you just keep talking. You keep making the same errors with the same people because the connection is too strong to sever.
If you’re looking for a show that will give you a warm fuzzy feeling, this isn't it. But if you want something that captures the specific, sharp ache of being young and navigate a world where the rules of "love" and "friendship" are constantly shifting, it’s worth the watch.
How to Approach the Show Now
If you haven't seen it yet, or if you turned it off after two episodes, try changing your perspective. Don't look at it as a romance. Look at it as a character study on intimacy.
Watch for the subtext. The most important things in this show are the things the characters don't say. Pay attention to the body language in the group scenes at Melissa’s house. Watch the way Frances uses her phone as a shield.
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Check out the soundtrack. The music selection is top-tier, featuring artists like Phoebe Bridgers (who was dating Paul Mescal at the time, ironically) and various indie tracks that perfectly capture the "sad girl" aesthetic of the Rooney-verse.
Read the book alongside it. If you find the show confusing, the book acts as a perfect companion. It fills in the gaps of Frances’s internal monologue and makes her actions feel far more grounded.
The Conversations with Friends show remains a fascinating, if polarizing, piece of television. It’s a slow burn that requires patience, but it offers a haunting look at modern connection that few other shows dare to attempt. It’s messy, it’s quiet, and it’s deeply human. Even when the characters are being insufferable, you can’t quite look away.
To get the most out of the experience, try watching the first three episodes in one sitting to get past the initial setup. Focus on the relationship between Frances and Bobbi as the primary anchor, rather than just the affair. Finally, look for the subtle shifts in the cinematography—the way the camera moves closer as the characters lose their grip on their carefully constructed personas. It’s in those small details that the show’s real power lies.