Jean Smart as legendary comedian Deborah Vance, left, with her millennial writer Ava Daniels, played by Hannah Einbinder, in Season 4 of Hacks.Crave/Supplied
There’s a scene in Hacks’ fourth-season finale that poses some big questions: When the end comes, how will you sum up your life? How will others do it for you? More importantly, how will those narratives match, and what did it cost to get there?
The HBO Max comedy, which streams on Crave in Canada, has always punched up in the way it tackles cancel culture, reinvention, feminism and generational clashes. Jean Smart as legendary comedian Deborah Vance has led her character through it all: a cancelled show in Vegas, a creative rebirth with help from her millennial writer, Ava Daniels (Hannah Einbinder), and, in the most recent season, becoming the first late-night female talk show host.
With each story turn, we’ve seen how much Deborah has had to trade in to get back on top. Hacks has always mined the incredible chemistry between Deborah and Ava to dig into how people use comedy for emotional survival, the complicated aspects of female mentorship, and the right for female characters to be — gasp! — unlikeable. But this season, more than most, there’s been a raw and surprisingly relatable exploration of the cost of comedy and fame and where to draw the line.
All season long, Deborah has been terrified to fail at the dream job she earned. But in clinging to that fear, she failed in another way: at sticking to the authentic artistry that got her where she is. She didn’t initially hire Ava as the head writer. She dove so deep into the metrics that she brought a version of daytime to nighttime. And she failed to dig into the political nuances of the day that have helped current, real-life late-night hosts stay relevant in an increasingly clipped world.
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The bigger the stage, the higher the stakes. But the higher the stakes, the more players are involved to ensure the train stays on the track. It’s a vicious cycle between innovation and doing what works to preserve costs and existing viewers. The results of that thinking are present in any current network drama, reality show or comedy.
For Deborah’s part, the decision to more or less go backward in terms of her comedic style didn’t just cost her viewers, but also her relationships. Giant strides in the social landscape in entertainment and beyond, combined with the rise of social media, have enabled and encouraged women to be more vulnerable, but it has also led to new challenges. Algorithms, feedback loops and an insatiable appetite for “realness” have become cornerstones in the modern entertainment landscape. Audiences no longer just want jokes; they also want confessions.
Accepting her past traumas and taking responsibility for her past missteps in her stand-up earned Deborah her late-night gig, and her returning to the old-school method can be seen not only as a dig at how the entire late-night industry needs to evolve to remain relevant – it was a character choice that drove the whole season.
The need to stay relevant isn’t just for celebrities. It’s something we all face. How many of us are glued to Instagram or TikTok, farming for likes, posting pics or drumming up content to feed the machine and our own egos? How much of that content reflects our real lives, and how much is an edited-down version we think people want to see? How much of our trauma are we willing to mine for validation? How often do we prioritize the approval of strangers over the loved ones sitting in front of us, vying for our attention?
Hacks has exposed the nuances of those struggles with aplomb in Season 4. Deborah’s relationship with her fans has always come at a personal cost. So it was extra gratifying when, in the penultimate episode, she finally chose something real – her relationship with Ava – and gave up the platform she had spent her lifetime building. Her doing so on live TV was cathartic.
She chose principle over profit, and it cost her everything: her show, her ability to perform thanks to an ironclad non-compete, and her personal business, which kept her going even when the stage lights dimmed.
To paraphrase T.S. Eliot, this is the way her world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper. But maybe that’s the point. Relevance isn’t just about being seen; it’s about being seen clearly. Sometimes, the easiest thing is to stay in the spotlight. The boldest choice, though? That’s knowing when to step out of it.
Of course, Deborah could never give up performing permanently, which is why the season ends where it does. But hopefully, when she returns, it will be with meaning and a message for women everywhere: stepping away for a rest or reset doesn’t make you irrelevant. It means you’ve finally found your voice.
