And Just Like That… is finally here.
Brace yourselves Sex And The City fans.
I have now watched five episodes of And Just Like That, and what I believe I am experiencing here, is what may be called a ‘cringe addiction’. I have previously stated that ‘we probably don’t need a Sex and The City reboot’, and I’m now going to say, that upon watching, we definitely do not need a Sex And The City reboot. But that’s kind of what were getting…right?
Of course, as an avid fan of the original series I absolutely had to see what Michael Patrick King and team have done to those beloved, and now deeply ‘problematic’ original characters. We all watched that (weirdly abstract) trailer and have been waiting anxiously to see how Carrie and co are faring in a post Covid landscape.
Everybody knows that one of those four women, is of course, Samantha — and we also know that Samantha is sadly very very absent. Unfortunately though, And Just Like That insists on rubbing salt in our wounds by bringing her up at random times during random episodes. I’m unsure why we need to be reminded of her absence through weirdly toned text messages and over the top flower arrangements. Even the joke in the very beginning about Samantha ‘no longer being with us…but she’s not dead!’ hits a little too close to home. Couldn’t they just have vaguely suggested she died and leave it at that? Too harsh? Theres more where that came from…
I have many many thoughts about the things I am seeing here, and trust me, there is a lot to see. Admittedly, I was quite enjoying the first episode, there was a lunch, there were outfits, there were signature one-liners and condom jokes. I even began to question wether I was wrong to suggest the show shouldn’t come back, as when I saw Carrie and co again I felt a familiar warmth. But then, right at the last minute, they killed Big!
I personally came to see the fashion and enjoy the smart quips and sex talk, not to see an iconic character die on an exercise bike. We’re too balls-deep in pandemic to cope with that kind of grief in the first 50 minutes of the show. What follows is obviously a grief-stricken Carrie, which is not one of my favourite Carries. I much prefer drunk break-up Carrie or experimental spin the bottle Carrie. Alas, a grieving Carrie is what we get, and with that comes even more exasperating behaviour.
Miranda is of course still present as Carrie’s side-kick, but is now receiving a big old crisis of her own. Whilst the storyline of navigating the woes of a stale long-term marriage is an interesting one, Miranda’s tale takes this to bizarre levels. Carrie once described Miranda as her ‘cynical touchstone’, yet Miranda is practically unrecognisable from her deliciously apathetic self. It seems she is either one of two states now, insanely erratic or perpetually embarrassed. She now adopts a permanently wrought face, even when she is fighting racial crime on the Subway. Why Miranda was chosen to be the character who has seemingly been living under a white rock for the past ten years is beyond me. Isn’t she a lawyer who lives in Brooklyn? Why has she never heard of a podcast, why is she so unnerved by a black woman with braids?
Miranda also begins to question her sexuality, which if you ask me is long over-due, when she meets Che Diaz, Carrie’s transgender podcast ‘boss’ and standup comedian. What could be a compelling and actually rather touching (mind the pun) journey for Miranda, is made into a caricature before it even reaches peak tension. The fingering scene, which I’m sure will cement itself as infamous before long, was honestly one of the most searingly awkward things I’ve seen on television in a long time. And for that, perhaps they’ve absolutely hit it out of the park. I posted about this particular scene on my social media and happily started many a conversation with friends.
Charlotte’s turn at making up for the original’s lack of woke-ness is equally as cringe inducing, although perhaps slightly more apt. Charlotte always did live in an Upper-east side, Ralph-Lauren wall-papered, bubble. She was definitely the most out of touch of the four. Her mission to look like she has more Black friends is far from endearing, but also probably not far from reality for a woman like Charlotte.
On the flip-side her black friend not having any white friends is a bizarre detail, I cannot stress enough that these women live in Manhattan, not Stepford from The Stepford Wives. I also don’t have any time for the double storyline of Charlotte’s youngest daughter, Rose, wanting to now be referred to as ‘Rock’. Is this just a plot device to assert even further how clueless and shrill Charlotte is? Either way it is dizzying and I felt like I needed a long lay down by episode five. It feels as though the creators are constantly shoe-horning ‘woke culture’ into almost every scene.
Let’s not even mention Steve’s deafness or Carrie’s completely random hip surgery, for the love of old people. Neither of these events add much to an already chocked full plot, except to point out once more that they are now ‘old’. What could have been much more fun would be to see the intricacies of their personal lives explored individually through Carrie’s eyes. I suppose this is the creator’s way of asking that age-old question that was often posed throughout the original, is it possible to ‘have it all’ and not become completely disillusioned? Apparently not.
What’s sorely missing for me is Carrie’s voice throughout the episodes. Even if she was seriously morally bankrupt at times, I enjoyed the Carrie ‘writing out loud’ format. Although, I understand that the new voiceover-less style opens up more of a storyline for Charlotte and Miranda.
In an effort not to sound like a complete cynic, I will say that there has been some solid fashion. It is outrageous and at times nauseating, just as expected. Carrie’s checkered kimono in episode five was a standout, until I realised she was wearing almost matching genie pants. There were sparkly gloves and flower corsages and billowing waves of blonde — all very classic Carrie, which did make my heart flutter just a little bit. We did however have to wait again until episode five to see a classic Carrie shoe moment after her hip surgery. I’m more than sure that Patricia Field, Sex and The City’s beloved costume designer would have somehow squeezed in some heels before then.
For the most part, And Just Like That costume designers Molly Rogers and Danny Santiago do a good job of satisfying our Carrie cravings. But there have also been some costume choices that made my eyes-roll so far back into my head that I almost lost them. I mean, are we really not over Carrie in a tutu yet!? And why must Charlotte repeat the same Betty Crocker-esque outfits over and over. Please put her in something other than a prom skirt! Not to mention that all of the black characters seem to have a particular penchant for tribal inspired jewellery. Eek!
Perhaps all of this is just my way of saying that nothing will ever trump the original for me, not even another instalment of the show itself. The relationship I had with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha is something that has shaped me, and televisual culture indefinitely. What the original show did excellently was deliver a sort of cocktail of the ridiculous and the sincere, none of it was at all too complex or taxing to watch. There was always a sense of morality and a cute gag or quip that overshadowed any seriousness or political commentary.
If it seems I’m being harsh here, it’s because SATC is precious to me. I feel And Just Like That is too intent on inserting woke-ness at every turn to be any fun. Alas, I wait with bated breath to see what atrocities occur in the next episode. I hope very much that Carrie gets to be Carrie (however unbearable that may be) a little bit more and that the other two simmer down just a touch.
Watch this space!
