The kindred spirits’ prayers have been answered—sort of. After six years in the wilderness, “Anne with an E” is back for one final, heart-wrenching hurrah. Netflix and CBC announced today that Season 4, set to premiere in spring 2026, will serve as the series’ swan song, wrapping Anne Shirley’s journey into adulthood with a poignant bow. But in a twist that has fans clutching their pinafores and scribbling frantic petitions, show creator Moira Walley-Beckett dropped a tantalizing hint: a standalone finale film could extend the Avonlea magic beyond the small screen. “We’ve saved the best for last,” Walley-Beckett teased at Netflix’s Tudum event, her eyes sparkling like the White Way of Delight. “But who says goodbye has to be forever? A feature film finale… imagine Anne’s wedding under those golden PEI skies, or her first heartbreak in full cinematic glory.” As excitement collides with bittersweet dread, one question burns brighter than a raspberry cordial spill: Will this be the epic closure we deserve, or a hasty farewell that leaves us all with scope for even more imagination?

The announcement landed like a thunderclap on a dewy Avonlea morning—November 14, 2025, to be precise—at Netflix’s star-studded Tudum global fan event in Los Angeles. The theater, a glittering hive of cosplayers in puffed sleeves and freckle-dusted cheeks, fell into a hush as the familiar strains of a fiddle and accordion swelled. Suddenly, the screen bloomed with PEI’s emerald fields, Anne’s laughter cutting through the wind like a declaration of war on boredom. Amybeth McNulty, now 24 and radiating the fierce grace of a woman who’s traded braids for ballots, narrated in voiceover: “The world is vast, and so is my heart—full of dreams, doubts, and the unyielding belief that every ending is but a prelude to something extraordinary.” Cut to title cards: “Anne with an E: Season 4. The Final Chapter. Spring 2026. Only on Netflix.” The room exploded—sobs from diehards who’d camped overnight, cheers from newcomers discovering the show’s quiet revolution, and a collective gasp as Walley-Beckett took the stage beside McNulty, Geraldine James (Marilla), and R.H. Thomson (Matthew, via a pre-recorded hologram tribute that had everyone misty-eyed).

But the real stunner? Walley-Beckett’s offhand bombshell during the Q&A. “Season 4 will be our last as a series,” she confirmed, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “We’ve mapped Anne’s path to Queen’s College, her first loves, her battles for justice—it’s a fitting crescendo. But… I’ve always dreamed of a finale feature film. Something epic, theatrical, to give Anne the grand send-off she deserves. Picture this: two hours of unbridled imagination, with all the heartbreaks and triumphs we’ve held back. Netflix is listening. The fans are roaring. Who knows? Avonlea might yet bloom on the big screen.” The crowd lost it—standing ovations, chants of “Film! Film! Film!”—while social media ignited like dry tinder. #AnneFinaleFilm trended worldwide within minutes, amassing 800,000 mentions by evening, with fan art flooding Instagram: Anne in a wedding gown under fireworks, or striding into a bustling city, journal in hand.

This isn’t hyperbole; it’s history repeating with a twist. “Anne with an E,” the CBC-Netflix co-production that dared to reimagine L.M. Montgomery’s 1908 classic “Anne of Green Gables” as a bold, unflinching portrait of girlhood in Edwardian Canada, was cruelly axed after Season 3 in November 2019. The cancellation, announced mere hours after the Canadian finale aired, felt like a betrayal: Anne, poised on the cusp of womanhood, her red hair a banner of rebellion against a world that sought to dim her spark, left dangling mid-dream. Petitions surged past 1.5 million signatures, billboards popped up in Times Square and Toronto’s Yonge-Dundas Square blaring “Save Anne with an E!,” and A-listers like Ryan Reynolds (who tweeted, “Anne’s got more fight than Deadpool—renew this gem!”) and Rami Malek joined the fray. Even Montgomery’s descendants weighed in, praising the show’s expansion of themes like feminism, Indigenous rights, and mental health—elements hinted at in the books but amplified for modern eyes.

Why the axe? Insiders point to a perfect storm: Netflix’s algorithm favored “bingeable hooks” over the series’ slow-burn lyricism, CBC fretted over the streamer’s growing dominance eroding Canadian content quotas, and budget overruns from lavish PEI shoots (that recreated Green Gables with historical precision) tipped the scales. “We were ahead of our time,” Walley-Beckett reflected in a 2020 Variety interview. “Anne spoke to the #MeToo era, to climate anxiety through her love of nature— but metrics didn’t catch up.” Viewership told a different tale: Season 3 racked up 25 million hours watched in its first week globally, topping charts in 190 countries and sparking a TikTok renaissance with “kindred spirit” challenges and braid tutorials that still trend today.

Fast-forward six years, and the stars aligned anew. Netflix, battered by a 2025 subscriber slump (down 2% amid price wars with Disney+ and Prime Video), has doubled down on “comfort prestige”—emotional, character-driven fare that fosters loyalty. Enter “Anne with an E”: a proven hit with untapped potential, ripe for a victory lap. CBC, buoyed by federal grants to revive heritage stories, jumped aboard, securing $15 million in funding for PEI tourism tie-ins (the island’s “Anne economy” already injects $100 million annually via tours and merch). Walley-Beckett, whose Emmy-winning pedigree from “Breaking Bad” (she penned the legendary “Ozymandias”) and “Flesh and Bone” lent gravitas, pitched a Season 4 that honors Montgomery’s sequels—”Anne of Avonlea” and “Anne of the Island”—while delivering closure. “We couldn’t leave Anne adrift,” she told The Hollywood Reporter post-announcement. “This season is her metamorphosis: from dreamer to doer, with all the thorns that come with blooming.”

At Tudum, the 10-episode arc unfurled like a well-thumbed diary. Time-jumping to 1900, we find Anne, 18, storming Queen’s College with unbridled zeal—her dormitory a whirlwind of midnight study sessions, illicit debates on suffrage, and clandestine kisses with Gilbert Blythe (Lucas Jade Zumann, now 24 and channeling a more mature, medic-in-training charm). The plot pulses with Montgomery’s wit and Walley-Beckett’s edge: Anne’s journalism ambitions clash with patriarchal gatekeepers, forcing her to pen pseudonymous editorials that ignite Avonlea’s sleepy sensibilities. Romance deepens—Gilbert’s proposals mingle with a rakish rival (whispers of “Heartstopper” alum Joe Locke in talks), testing Anne’s “scope for imagination” against the terror of settling. Family fractures add salt: Marilla’s (Geraldine James) creeping arthritis mirrors her fear of losing Anne to the wider world; Matthew’s (R.H. Thomson) legacy haunts via tender flashbacks, his gentle wisdom a balm for Anne’s doubts. Diana Barry (Dalila Bela, evolved into a fierce suffragette) and Cole Mackenzie (Dallas Liu, the artistic soul who came out as gay in Season 2) return as anchors, their arcs weaving queer joy and Indigenous resilience—Ka’kwet’s (Kaniehtiio Horn) storyline confronts residential school shadows head-on, consulted with Mi’kmaq elders for authenticity.

Diversity blooms brighter: New faces include a non-binary poet (Blue Chapman, “Euphoria” breakout) who ignites Anne’s literary fire, and a Black activist (Ayo Edebiri, fresh off “The Bear”) challenging Gilbert’s med school biases. “Anne’s empathy was always radical,” Walley-Beckett explains. “We’re voicing the era’s silenced—women, queer folks, people of color—without apology.” Visually, it’s PEI poetry: Cinematographer Cathal Waddell’s 8K lenses capture fog-kissed bays and amber sunsets, while Debra Hanson’s costumes transition Anne from calico to collegiate—puffed sleeves yielding to tailored vests, symbolizing her unapologetic evolution. The score, by Amin Bhatia and Jonathan Goldsmith, layers Celtic fiddles with modernist swells, underscoring grief’s undertow amid joy’s tide.

Production whispers tantalize. Filming commenced in July 2025 under veils of secrecy, shuttling between Cavendish’s Anne House (a UNESCO hopeful) and Toronto stages for controlled chaos. Budget: $65 million CAD, a 25% hike from Season 3, fueling VFX dreamscapes where Anne dialogues with “Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald” phantoms—her inner muse, now a chorus of empowered women. Cast chemistry crackles: McNulty, post-HBO’s “The Sympathizer” acclaim, directs an episode on female solidarity; James and Thomson share table reads laced with real tears, honoring Thomson’s mental health advocacy. Guest stars dazzle—Catherine O’Hara as a quixotic lit professor, Awkwafina voicing a sassy raven in Anne’s fever visions. Zumann teases Gilbert’s “quiet heroism,” Bela her Diana’s “blossoming rebellion.”

Yet, finality looms like a storm over the barachoa. Season 4 caps the series, resolving arcs left dangling: Anne’s heritage quest, Bash’s (Dalmar Abuzeid) family reunion, Ruby’s (Kyla Matthews) unrequited ache. “It’s a love letter and a goodbye,” McNulty shares. “Anne steps into her power, but oh, the cost—heartbreaks that scar, choices that echo.” Fans, scarred by 2019’s rug-pull, brace for more: Will Gilbert propose under the White Way? Does Marilla’s illness claim her? The finale, penned by Walley-Beckett, promises “Montgomery fidelity with our truth”—Anne boarding a train to Nova Scotia, journal clutched, whispering, “To the bend in the road where adventure awaits.”

Enter the film tease: Walley-Beckett’s 2019 EW hint—a “finale feature”—resurfaces like buried treasure. Back then, post-cancellation despair, she floated it as a Hail Mary: “I’d love to write an AWAE finale feature film.” Now, with Season 4’s momentum, it’s no pipe dream. “Netflix sees the vision,” she coyly revealed at Tudum. “Imagine two hours of unbridled Avonlea: Anne’s wedding, perhaps, or her first novel’s birth pangs. Theatrical release, IMAX sunrises—giving her the epic canvas she craves.” Insiders buzz: A $40 million pitch, eyeing 2028, could bundle with a “Green Gables” docu-series. Hurdles? Cast availability (McNulty eyes Oscars bait), rights wrangling with Montgomery estate. But metrics scream yes: TikTok’s 2024 resurgence (40% Gen Z discovery), PEI tourism spike (up 30% post-petition).

Purists grumble—”modernizing” Montgomery risks sacrilege—but champions abound. “Anne’s timeless because she’s timely,” op-edded The Globe and Mail. “Walley-Beckett’s feminism, her Indigenous arcs—these honor LMM’s spirit.” Risks? A rushed close, fan fatigue. Yet hope flickers: Tudum’s teaser—Anne declaring, “Depth of soul is my inheritance!”—hooks anew.

As spring 2026 dawns, kindred spirits unite. PEI’s festival sells out; virtual watch-alongs trend. Merch surges—”Carrots & Closure” tees, Yennefer journals (wait, Avonlea elixirs?). In TV’s churn, “Anne with an E” Season 4 isn’t end—it’s evolution. A reminder: Like Anne, stories bend but never break. Grab your slate, dreamers. The final chapter awaits—wider, wilder, wonderfully ours.