Did And Just Like That's second season make it the Ex we needed to get back with?
When And Just Like That… first strutted onto our screens, everyone knew it had big Manolos to fill, and expectations were high. Following just under a year of feverish anticipation and “BUT WHAT ABOUT SAMANTHA?!?!!” discourse, the pop culture institution that had already spanned three decades was about to enter a fourth by returning to its small screen roots as a notably revamped foray into the SATCCU (Sex and the City cinematic universe), and fans were poised to once again be transported to this delusionally quixotic portrayal of the New York City high life.
Since hopes of a third film had already been dashed, and at this point deeply in the midst of omnipresent doom from a certain global p-word, Gen Xers and geriatric millennials alike were desperate enough to lap up some quality time with their favourite fabulous foursome in whatever way they could get – even sans Kim Cattrall.
With a new name and newly supersized cast, its debut worked overtime bringing us up to speed on what 2021 looked like for Carrie et al. (including Samantha, whose absence is swiftly explained within the first 60 seconds), and perhaps most importantly, introducing us to everyone’s assigned person of colour. Even with all the acquainting and reacquainting, its double-episode premiere was ultimately dominated by the sudden demise of John James “Mr. Big” Preston, who sadly died from a fatal combination of overexertion and a wife who should be absolutely no one’s in case of emergency contact.
I couldn’t help but wonder: was this a revival, or just dead on arrival?
The grief from Big’s death rippled through the remainder of season one, but even that couldn’t compare to the pain and suffering we endured witnessing the unrecognisable reanimated corpse of something we loved so much. What was once celebrated for its razor-sharp dialogue and daring subject matter had now been reduced to 44-minute instalments of clunky exposition, painfully conspicuous virtue signalling, and the bothersome comic stylings of resident jester and agent of chaos, Che Diaz. While it was great to have these women back in our lives, it was disappointing to see just how much the writers had managed to get wrong. So I couldn’t help but wonder: was this a revival, or just dead on arrival?
Seemingly not the latter, in the eyes of streamer Max, who despite much public derision renewed AJLT for a second season, and even with all that’s been said I have to admit I was pleased. Season one was mainly a letdown for failing to live up to what it could have been (by some way), but that doesn’t mean to say it had nothing going for it. For starters, everyone and everything looked fucking amazing, so it was comforting to know that whatever wacky shit was going on with the characters, the all-frills no-expense-spared approach would at least provide a treat for the eyes. Secondly, the entire cast was and continues to be genuinely top-notch, with original players effortlessly reprising the characters we know and love, and new ones bringing a much-needed fresh dynamic. Its biggest draw and likely the reason people kept coming back for more, was good old nostalgia – something so unique that it can’t be manufactured. Though it felt like sentimentality was definitely doing most of the heavy lifting, it was never going to be enough to sustain something with longevity, especially when viewers didn’t always feel that the characters were being written in a way that felt true to their origins.
Season two arrived with all that potential still up its sleeve, expectations considerably lowered, and the opportunity to atone for its predecessor’s crimes. So, as AJLT’s sophomore effort came to its conclusion this week, I couldn’t help but wonder: had the show managed to evolve from an underwhelming comeback to something that could actually stand on its own merits, just like that? Well, almost.
To give due credit, a number of things have got better. The once-new characters now feel more holistically embedded in the fabric of the show, so they don’t come across simply as jarring manifestations of the original purpose their inclusion served. Attempts to tell stories from more diverse points of view are comparatively more seamless and less flag-wavy (save for the literal pride flag sticker on Che’s laptop), perhaps one of the first season’s biggest peeves. There are even fleeting moments when certain scenes and storylines feel genuinely Sex and the City-esque, which are not only great to watch but also make you wonder why the writers don’t recognise that at the end of the day, this is really what the people want.
Unfortunately, there are a number of issues still keeping this rotten tomato from being certified fresh, made more annoying by the fact that many of them are so glaringly obvious and easy to fix that they should really know better.
Too many characters
While I do think the expansion of the cast has broadly been a positive thing, they haven’t quite figured out how to make the best use of an ensemble this size in a way that serves the characters and the audience. Even with a longer runtime, jumping between multiple storylines over the course of one episode can feel both crammed and rushed, more in the vein of a daytime soap. Nowadays, other TV shows with large casts have a better grasp of the fact that you don’t have to bend over backwards to try and fit in every character in every episode, rather giving focus to a select few and alternating over the course of the season.
Another problem this seems to create is weird, often abrupt cuts between scenes that feel like they suddenly end just as they were starting to get going. This makes the loss of Carrie’s voiceover even more pronounced, as that simple touch could easily contribute to more harmonious transitions from one thing to the next. Showrunner, Michael Patrick King, explains the reasoning behind this:
I always knew there would be no voiceover, because the thesis of this show is that Carrie has no overview. She’s in it. And the fun of Sex and the City was that she’s almost looking at it from above, and she’s summing it all up. Even if it was an ugly moment, Carrie would have a voiceover that could lighten it and give you distance on it and make the audience feel taken care of.
Michael Patrick King, Variety, 2022
So you see, it’s less fun on purpose. Thanks, MPK!
Carrie is still kind of the worst
You want your main character to tread that line of being flawed but relatable; not so off-putting that you can’t see yourself in them, but messy enough to keep things interesting. In recent years, SATC-era Carrie Bradshaw has not been looked upon favourably by today’s commentators, who have noted the number of ways in which she was generally a bad person, and worse friend. Self-described “new chapter” AJLT should have been just that for Carrie, and was the perfect opportunity for some form of redemption, but it seems like the only personal growth she’s had is in her bank account.
The first love of her life died in her arms: and just like that… Carrie joined the 1% club.
Some of Carrie’s antics which back in the day we may have forgiven as the adorable tomfoolery of a dizzy thirty-something just tryna figure things out, now seem downright childish. Season one, when Natasha – to whom Carrie has never been anything but a menace – blocks her on Instagram, she resorts to stalking the poor woman. Season two, she single-handedly tanks her own podcast taking everyone else involved down with her, because she won’t say “vagina” on her own show… about sex. Worst of all, she still refers to her dead adult husband as “Big”, an unendearing nickname intended to reduce him to a cartoonish stereotype that she only ever used behind his back. For God’s sake, woman – you’re 56!
One way in which Carrie did change significantly, and not necessarily for the better, was following the loss of her husband. In the most tragic of circumstances, the first love of her life died in her arms: and just like that… Carrie joined the 1% club. In the original series, there was an unspoken acceptance that Carrie’s presumed income compared to her lifestyle did not add up. While the other three women of the core four had more realistic means of living somewhat luxuriously, we were happy to delude ourselves into the fantasy that Carrie’s existence was aspirational from a safe distance. Now, with an obscene amount of inherited wealth, they have completely done away with any pretence of relatability, and sheer affluence has simply become the standard. When we first met Carrie, her biggest indulgence was buying a pair of designer shoes. Very relatable. Now, she’s snapping up multi-million dollar real estate without a second thought as if it were nothing more than, well, a pair of shoes. Not so relatable.
We need to talk about Che
First of all, it must be said: we LOVE Sara Ramirez, and the multi-talented, Tony award-winning actor is truly a gift to the show. Previously known for playing Dr. Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy, who remains my favourite character of the series to this day, largely in part to their incredible performance, screen presence, beauty, and charisma, all of which they bring to this world. In playing AJLT’s most controversial character, they have probably felt the most heat since the show debuted.
The writers have created a character so utterly unlikeable that isn’t actually meant to be a villain.
The central problem is, quite unfathomably, the writers have created a character so utterly unlikeable that isn’t actually meant to be a villain. When you’re not supposed to like someone, you don’t feel so compelled to vent about how much you feel that way. Shows like this are supposed to have antagonists who come and go, not set up shop and be the catalyst for a main character’s divorce. So by presenting Che as a viable love interest for Miranda, while making them conceited, borderline cruel, and (adding insult to injury) an agonisingly unfunny comedian, it essentially sets them up for a hate train.
Che’s cockiness doesn’t come across as the finely-aged confidence of someone pushing 50, but rather the arrogance of a twenty-something who thinks they already have everything figured out. Much worse is they are frequently and consistently mean to and impatient with Miranda, in a way that never makes you sympathetic to their point of view. It never hurts to give even the most confident of characters an ounce of humility, but even in their moments of vulnerability they only ever seem whiny and entitled. The small sliver of hope is that when they’re not with Miranda they’re actually pretty tolerable, and now that relationship is over we just might have the opportunity to see a better side of Che.
Ridiculous plot development
This could be an entire article unto itself, with every episode having holes so gaping you’d think they bottommed for Giuseppe, but these are some B plots that really should have been more thought out.
Seema & Ravi
When we meet Seema’s latest love interest, Ravi Gordi, it’s made quite clear he’s a Very Busy Man who’s always on his phone taking Very Important Calls. So far, so one-dimensional. They’re introduced to each other in what is ostensibly going to be a business relationship, and we don’t see him again until the next episode. Fast forward a week (which in AJLT time is actually three weeks) Seema has shown him every overpriced apartment in New York and is at the tipping point of her patience before Ravi drops a bomb. “Here is the plot twist:” (whatever could it be??) “if I had taken the best three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have had these wonderful afternoons with you.” AWWWW. They then proceed to bang in a stranger’s bed.
While that “plot twist” could be seen coming from a mile off, this scenario makes no sense for either character. They’re both people who are unmistakably characterised as the type who knows what they want and have no problem going after it. Seema is (unofficially) substitute Samantha, and Ravi, as previously discussed, is VERY busy. It’s frankly implausible that they’d spend all that time together without either one just asking the other out, or if we had to see them in this state of uncontrollable lust they could have just banged at the first place they viewed together. It’s certainly not the first instance when characters have been written in a way that seems totally at odds with their personality, but this one was particularly brazen.
Anthony & Giuseppe
It’s ironic that SATC was often criticised for having straight female characters written as if they were gay men, and yet they’ve managed to do such a poor job for the actual gay men on the show. Anthony has been promoted to series regular for AJLT, and while this does contribute to the issue of too many storylines, it does mean more screen time for the fantastic Mario Cantone which is ultimately a net positive. With the tragic death of Willie Garson, Stanford has been demoted to off-screen Shinto monk in Japan, leaving Anthony on the market for a new beau. Enter Italian poet Guiseppe, whose introduction so absurdly transcends the suspension of disbelief that it appears to set the standard for the remainder of their relationship.
Anthony needs a new hot fella yesterday, and with very specific criteria; Charlotte manages to find this unicorn almost instantaneously with a simple turn of her head towards LITERALLY the first man she lays eyes on, in a conflict/resolution narrative arc that is regrettably faithful to the show’s name. Blah blah, Drew Barrymore, dick print, [double entendres] etc. Giuseppe is hired as a full-time hot fella, creating an opportunity for their relationship to evolve. Cut to Anthony at his bakery kneading dough, the mere image of which telegraphs the Ghost homage we’re about to witness, where Giuseppe “comes out” to his bemused employer who seemingly hasn’t managed to clock this in the month they’ve worked together. Sorry, but any gay worth their salt is not buying this sequence of events! Yes, it’s uncouth to speculate about someone’s sexuality, but gay people know other gay people are gay, and if they don’t know they suspect, and if they suspect they confirm their suspicions within 24 hours.
Amazingly, this homophobic representation gets even worse. After firing then unfiring Giuseppe on the spot, and later being reassured he’s not just after a green card thanks to his dual citizenship (another quite crucial revelation which thus far has managed to be sidestepped in both their professional and romantic relationship?!) Anthony is ready to take their connection to the next level. Moments after they have sex (presumably for the first time) an unintentionally hilarious conversation ensues:
“And now: my turn to fuck you, yes?”
“Ah, no.”
“Oh, really? And why not?”
“Because it’s not who I am.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re the bottom, I’m not.”
“I’m bottom, I’m top, I’m in love – with you.”
Where to begin. I don’t know if the writers actually want us to think that these are two people who never speak to each other except for when they’re on screen, but it’s INCONCEIVABLE that this conversation hadn’t already taken place between a gay couple more than five dates deep, and certainly before their first time in bed. Then we have the dreaded top/bottom discourse, which could have been an interesting topic to explore had it not been lifted from a 1970s guide to homosexual courtship. Anthony admits his tendency to equate bottomming with femininity is a deep-rooted generational belief, and pertinent as that connection might be, I don’t see why there needs to be a place for that particular point of view on television in 2023. His unwillingness to bottom for Giuseppe serves as their central story arc for the remainder of the season, forming a rather crude metaphor for his fear of letting him in emotionally. It’s an odd exploitation of gay sexuality for the sake of a contrived narrative that could have been approached in a number of different ways, especially at a writers’ table with a gay man at its head.
The MILF list
Less serious but equally as annoying, I’ll skip over the part of this story where a group of adult women are shown briefly lusting after a high school student and it’s all brushed off as desperate housewife lolz, and get straight to the list itself – not the names on the list, the actual list.
The problem, as you might be wondering, is that we are somehow expected to believe this PDF file, containing nothing more than ~40 words, is TEN MEGABYTES. I don’t know who’s responsible for this (something I can finally not blame on the writers) but even the boomeriest of boomers wouldn’t be this tech-illiterate.
The kids aren’t alright
Getting to see the evolution of the main characters now having to deal with parenthood as well as all the sex and all the city has been a great added dimension to the show, but do their respective offspring all need to be so fucking irritating? Yes, the challenges of raising children (and teenagers in particular) is great fodder for storytelling and character growth, but these ones operate in ways that are exclusively whiny and entitled. Maybe it’s an intentional portrayal of the consequences of growing up amongst tremendous wealth, with Lily penning nepo-baby anthem The Power of Privilege showing a glimpse of self-awareness. That said, the Todd Wexley kids, who we’ve seen the least of, also appear to be part of the wealthiest family and yet are the best behaved.
I wouldn’t necessarily mind seeing more storylines involving the kids because they provide a new lens through which to view the main characters, but giving them a better attitude at least some of the time wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.
The return of Aidan
Aidan coming back was inevitable; given how heavily the show relies on nostalgia, they couldn’t not bring him back, and for the same reason it couldn’t be reduced to a fleeting kiss. To be fair, except for so much of their story hinging on his refusal to enter her old apartment, the development of their relationship has been done quite well. But part of me still wishes that when it comes to Carrie’s relationships we would be looking forward rather than backwards. This rekindling even made Carrie reconsider her relationship with Big, wondering if it was a big mistake… which, of course, it was – they were both terrible for each other! But from the SATC series finale until his death, this universe has continued to build on the foundation that theirs was somehow the ultimate love story, and her reunion with Aidan is forcing them to say the quiet part out loud – it never really was.
Where the end of season one left Carrie on the precipice of an exciting new romance, season two has dropped her in a five-year relationship time out. Strangely presented as an inconvenient but reasonable solution, the two will be expected to somehow maintain a tenuous relationship with limited in-person contact for the best part of a decade. It’s hard to imagine that actually playing out towards a happy ending, with season three likely to be dominated by the challenges created by all their time spent apart, or we might be treated to a time jump courtesy of Aidan’s Thanos-like finger snaps.
AJLT definitely started to find its stride with season two, and there is an optimistic sense that it’s heading in the right direction for the next one. But, if we’re being honest, does it really matter? Truth be told, our relationship with this show is much like the love Carrie always dreamed of: ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love. And just like Carrie (pun intended) we’ll keep coming back for more, even if deep down we know it’s not good for us.
This article was originally published on the Pop Warrior blog, 25 August 2023
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🗨️ Join the discussion
Has Season 2 changed your opinion of And Just Like That…?
📖 Further reading
And Just Like That… The Writers Room
Michael Patrick King and his team of writers/producers talk about their process and behind-the-scenes tea, all the while sounding awfully and unwaveringly pleased with themselves, episode by episode on the official companion podcast. Also available on YouTube.
The Guilty Feminist Watches And Just Like That
Sex and the City superfan Deborah Frances-White and friends do a brilliant and thoroughly entertaining job dissecting each episode, with a more objective point of view.