Below is a spoiler-free review of the first two episodes of And Just Like That..., which are now streaming on HBO Max, with new episodes every Thursday.
The first sign that sequel series And Just Like That... will be a drastic departure from its predecessor comes with Carrie's very first line, which directly addresses the COVID-19 pandemic. Sex and the City was always escapist entertainment -- this is a show that took place in New York in the aughts and didn't even address Sept. 11, after all -- and getting a little more topical isn't necessarily a bad thing. Where it fails dramatically, however, is its sloppy execution. Gone with the escapism is the optimism, wit, and humor that made Sex and the City so special, giving us a dreary, stilted, and occasionally mean-spirited new chapter. As I watched the two-episode premiere, I couldn't help but wonder... do the writers of Sex and the City hate their own characters?
Whereas Sex and the City was a half-hour comedy, And Just Like That becomes a 45-minute drama with attempts, I guess, at comedy? It picks up with three out of four of our favorite Manhattan 30-somethings as they now navigate their 50s. Carrie and Big have settled into domestic bliss, Miranda embarks on new career goals while dealing with an over-sexed teenage son, and Charlotte is busy being the overbearing mother she was always meant to be. Missing, however, is the beloved and perpetually horny fourth pillar of the original series, Samantha, due to Kim Cattrall's highly publicized refusal to participate. I suppose to its credit, And Just Like That doesn't dance around her absence (and how could it?), but its poor addressing of the subject is the first red flag that this sequel isn't going to do its characters justice.
Without spoiling the specific reason Samantha's flown the coop, it seems weirdly unfaithful to her character. Sure, she could frequently let her pride get the best of her, but she was always there for her friends -- Carrie in particular -- when the going got rough. Here, she's made to be unusually and uncharistically petty. Friend breakups are certainly rife for exploring in media (look to Insecure Season 4 for perhaps the most realistic and gut-wrenching example of this), but we're only getting one side of the story here. Granted, there's only so much And Just Like That can do about this without Cattrall, but I felt at times like a child of divorce hearing the same thing over and over again from a bitter parent. It's not just a slap in the face to Samantha, but everyone who loved the character, the woman who put the "sex" in Sex and the City.
Even still, the characters who are there don't fare much better, particularly Miranda, whose storyline may very well be the worst part of the show. As she heads back to school to get a master's degree in human rights, she makes an ass out of herself in front of her Black professor in a scene that runs so long and is so cringe-worthy that I nearly had to shut off the TV. Cringe comedy can be done well (infamous The Office episode "Scott's Tots" is the master class in this) but what's missing here is, well, any comedy -- the show is across-the-board unfunny. But it's also perplexing to see the writers make Miranda such an idiot. She had her issues in the original series, but being a straight-up buffoon really wasn't one of them.
In this regard, And Just Like That tries a lot to comment on "wokeness" and how our crew would fit into this -- seriously, there's a podcast that Carrie guests on that literally has a "woke moment!" soundbite (the host of the podcast, Che, is the only new player who makes an impact, with Sara Ramirez bringing a good amount of charm and comedic timing to a character who could've been pretty obnoxious otherwise). But the way it goes about this is all wrong, and stunningly tone-deaf. In theory, seeing the main characters navigate through this kind of environment could be intriguing, but the writing seems less interested in having something to say about it and more interested in shaking its fist at the internet and screaming "how the heck are they supposed to keep up with all these pronouns anyway?"
That's the frustrating thing about And Just Like That: it brings up a lot of ideas that could be fun to explore, but fumbles almost all of them. The one thing that does work is its surprising exploration of grief and moving on after loss. This seems to be at the heart of And Just Like That, and its portrayal of the nonlinear grieving process is movingly nuanced. Sarah Jessica Parker carries this well, from Carrie's zombie-like attempts to carry on in her day-to-day to her occasional outbursts of mourning.
It's just too bad this is buried under so much awkward writing and tonal inconsistency. As it deals with tragedy and even a simmering storyline on substance abuse, it's careless, sloppy, and poorly written. It's okay that And Just Like That isn't Sex and the City. But why does it seem so at war with it?
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