Commentary: A cozy return to fall with ‘Only Murders in the Building’ Season 4

Fall comes in August. I don’t mean that literally, much as I’d like it to be true; the leaves are still mostly green, the days are still warmish and my sweater shelf sits as yet undisturbed. But nonetheless, fall has arrived, on our screens at least: “Only Murders in the Building” is back.

Now beginning its fourth season on Hulu, “Only Murders” is autumn personified: always seeming to take place in a perfect when-Harry-met-Sally-in-Central Park New York fall. Note, in the opening credits, the orange splendor of the leaves entwining the building, and the companionable darkness of the atmosphere. Consider the splendid assortment of plaids and knitwear sported by the cast, and the coats-and-scarves routines whenever they go outside — which, honestly, they don’t do all that often. Because this is a show about staying indoors, about figuring out stories with your neighbors who somehow, magically, became your friends. Oh, and it’s also hilarious, which has nothing to do with the season but I thought I’d better toss it in up top anyway.

“Only Murders” is, technically, a mystery series, but really it’s about connection. Its three main characters begin the series lonely and isolated; all are residents of the Arconia, a grand courtyard apartment building in upper Manhattan. Charles-Haden Savage (Steve Martin), former star of the cop series “Brazzos,” now is mourning the loss of a long-term relationship and fending off the occasional fan who sort-of recognizes him. Oliver Putnam (Martin Short) is a mostly washed-up theater director, bankrupted by an ill-fated production of a “Splash!” musical and trying desperately to get some professional traction. Mabel Mora (Selena Gomez), a good 40 years younger than the two men, is an unemployed artist who lives alone in her aunt’s apartment.

They’re an unlikely trio, but they share a fascination with true crime, specifically a popular podcast called, perfectly, “All Is Not OK in Oklahoma” (narrated with raised-eyebrow ominousness by Tina Fey). And when a body turns up at the Arconia, somehow Charles’ earnest meticulousness and Oliver’s showboaty enthusiasm and Mabel’s sardonic wisdom blends to create not only comedy magic but a new podcast, called “Only Murders in the Building” (yes, this show is very meta). Each season of the TV show — and thus, each season of the podcast — revolves around one murder, which gets more or less solved by the end of a 10-episode arc.

Oddly, though, the murders don’t matter so much; I found, on a recent rewatch, that I had little memory of whodunit. What you respond to is the blossoming friendship of these three, which begins with contemptuousness (Charles and Oliver, amusingly, each think that the other is a has-been; Mabel just thinks they’re both old) and quickly becomes a sweet bond, a little island of solidarity in a vast, impersonal building. They’re oddballs, but “she’s weird in all the best ways,” Oliver explains about Mabel, “the way all your favorite people are weird.”

“Only Murders” came from an idea Martin hatched years ago about three older actors, neighbors who share a fascination for crime; they lack the energy to go downtown, so it’s “only murders in the building,” as Martin explained to The New York Times. When the idea finally caught on, showrunner/creator John Hoffman made a crucial switch-up: swap out one of the older characters for someone entirely different, “an alien in their world.”

Turns out that adding Gomez’s 20-something character to Martin and Short (first teamed in 1986’s “Three Amigos”) brought magic. There’s the expected intergenerational stuff: The men aren’t great with technology or contemporary language (though Charles proudly figures out what Mabel means by “rando,” by “using contextual clues”); Mabel doesn’t always get their references, particularly Oliver’s constant name-dropping. (Sample: “As I said to Paula Abdul during our production of ‘Hedda Gabler,’ we gotta think outside the box here.”)

But it’s the chemistry between them that makes “Only Murders” sing; you want to hang with them and enjoy some dip (which is all that Oliver eats) and study the murderboard. Short exudes an irresistible joy — Oliver, a perpetual pitchman, is always beaming — which seems to rub off on everyone else, especially Martin, whose Charles gives the sense of being happily pulled along on an unexpected journey. And Gomez, more than holding her own, brings her own sly-deadpan note, completing the chord.

While it’s clear who the stars are, “Only Murders” also offers a dream of a supporting cast. Meryl Streep shed her star power on multiple episodes — playfully cast as a not-very-successful actress. Sting had a perfect little two-episode arc as himself in Season 1 (resulting in one of my favorite moments in the series: Oliver, in the elevator, instructing his dog in perfect meter, “Winnie, don’t stand so close to Sting”). Da’Vine Joy Randolph, before and after her Oscar, is wonderfully cranky as a police detective sick to death of true-crime aficionados. Jane Lynch plays Charles’s longtime stunt double, Sazz Pataki (and yes, they do look uncannily alike). In the upcoming Season 4, whose pleasures I won’t spoil, I’ll just note that Eugene Levy, Eva Longoria and Zach Galifianakis are chef’s-kiss perfect.

And the show warmly conveys something universal: the idea of home. Charles, Oliver and Mabel all love the Arconia, with its endless hallways and mysterious passages and seemingly unending mysteries. Oliver, in one scene, reacts in horror when his son suggests that he ease his financial problems by selling his apartment. “It’s all I have!” he says, as if asked to sacrifice an arm; that cluttered apartment is part of him.

Amy Schumer, in a Season 2 guest appearance as herself, neatly sums up the podcast’s — and the show’s — appeal to Oliver. “I was never that much into murder before. Podcasts. Murder podcasts. Until yours,” she says, in the Arconia elevator (which has many stories to tell). “You guys just made it so … cozy.” Indeed. Happy autumn, everyone.

Moira Macdonald is The Seattle Times arts critic.