And Just Like That… The Sex and the City Reboot is Worse Than I'd Feared
Let's not pretend we didn't see this coming.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Sex and the City (2008) the movie is pretty bad. It’s not horrendous, in that it’s pretty watchable, and entertaining in parts, even if the happy-ever-afters the TV series gave us – namely, between Carrie and Big – are about to be torn right out of her romance-loving hands, but it’s still bad.
Sex and the City 2 (2010), the sequel to the first film, which was in itself (obviously) a follow-on from the cult HBO series, is, in fact, horrendous. It’s stupid, which is its first sin – whatever you could say about Sex and the City, the HBO series, it was never entirely stupid – but it’s also racist and sexist and reduces the series’ best character (this is not an arguable point; it is, on the contrary, an objective truth), Samantha Jones, to a series of dick jokes and public gropes.
Clearly, we all managed to forgive the writers – and actors – of the franchise for the film’s missteps, because when it was announced that the show was to return, under a new name, And Just Like That… and without the aforementioned Samantha Jones, due to actor Kim Cattrall’s pretty clear loathing for everyone involved, there was much excitement.
I’ll even admit that I was excited. (When I told a friend that I hated And Just Like That… she, having argued extensively with me that the films are good, told me that I had obviously been determined to dislike it from the beginning. But she’s wrong! I genuinely, really, truly wanted to like it, not least because a writer I really like and admire, Samantha Irby, worked on it.)
I am very enthusiastic about anything that will take us out of the pandemic doomscape.
We’ve had a tough couple of years, at least, collectively speaking. On a personal level, my main struggle throughout the pandemic has been being oceans away from my parents, with no firm idea of when we would be reunited. Otherwise, the self-isolation has kind of suited me; I have been able to live my best hermit lifestyle. I even got engaged, married, pregnant and gave birth to my son, who surprises me every day with his very existence. I just… never thought I’d ever have a baby, I think to myself, just as he pukes on me / something expensive belonging to me.
I am very enthusiastic about anything that will take us out of the pandemic doomscape, and a Sex and the City reboot seemed like just the ticket. Fashion! Fucking! Risqué puns over brunch! These are a few of my favourite things, after all.
So. You can imagine my chagrin when, three episodes in, the closest we’d go to any kind of sex was Big awkwardly masturbating under cover of Carrie’s shoulders (as in, we saw nothing to suggest that he was actually masturbating); or Miranda and Steve having to go to sleep to the dulcet tones of their son, Brady, having very rhythmic sex with his girlfriend in the next room. Shudder, on both counts.
Quite aside from the lack of sex, And Just Like That… simply wasn’t funny. In the series, the jokes were quippy, witty asides that made fun of the patriarchy, of dating tropes, of the things we all believe about New York (this is especially true of those of us who have never been there).
In this reboot, the jokes seem to be aimed primarily at its ageing characters; Steve wears a hearing aid (he’s in his fifties, and at no point does anyone discuss the fact that this is unusual, and very unfortunate); Carrie has an operation on her hip; Charlotte and Harry struggle with inviting only Black couple to a dinner party; Miranda goes back to college and, on day one, makes several awkward and ill-advised observations to her Black professor in a clunky attempt to be “woke”.
In fact, I would argue that the show’s attempts at modern-day political correctness – one of the greatest criticisms of the original series is how white it was – have wrought the clunkiest moments of all. Carrie befriends her realtor, played by Sarita Choudhury; Charlotte is BFFs with Lisa Todd Wexley (who everyone inexplicably calls LTW, played by Nicole Ari Parker), while also grappling with her daughter Rose deciding that she wishes to be called Rock at school, and referred to using they/them pronouns; Miranda befriends Carrie’s podcast (I KNOW!) producer Che Diaz, also a non-binary character, played by Sara Ramirez.
IT’S JUST NOT REALISTIC. And I mean: I know Sex and the City was not famed for its realism. In the post-SATC years, for example, there were many angry journalists attempting to tot up Carrie’s per-word fee, and figure out exactly how that resulted in her wardrobe of designer faves, which is declared, in the series, to be worth five figures. But the idea that these middle-class, relatively bourgeois white New York women would have only white friends? That was pretty realistic!
Now, 20 years on, we’re suddenly expected to believe that these affluent white ladies are the only affluent white ladies in America to buck the trend and become less conservative; more open-minded; less judgmental when it comes to gender and sexuality and and and and (and just like that…)
It’s very clear that And Just Like That… was made as a guaranteed cash cow for all involved. With an established audience, a yearning for “the before times” and a 75% cast return rate, it seemed like a sure winner. But there was simply no way of making Sex and the City into the kind of modern, woke show that 2021 deserves; I would love to see the budget and talent that undoubtedly went into creating this new iteration be dedicated, instead, to creating something new. Something fresh. Something true.
I will continue to watch And Just Like That… because, well, the episodes are short and come out once a week and I’m hoping that some day one of them will elicit even a cynical “heh”. I hope it’s not renewed for another season, because I’d probably watch that too, and honestly I deserve better. We all do.
*I deliberately didn’t want to get into the Chris Noth allegations – not because I don’t believe them, but because I do. The world is incredibly grim at the moment and I don’t think that we should allow this one rich, powerful, entitled man to ruin something that so many women have loved for so long. I mean… it’s ruined anyway, in my opinion, but I wouldn’t give him the credit.
I genuinely think it’s quite funny - I found the last episode with pain med Carrie really funny - I think the portrayal of the heartbreak of loosing a friend is accurate (what else where they meant to do about Samantha leaving?)
I feel that the first two episodes were a “woke explosion” of the writers being “LOOK WE LISTENED! WE ARE TRYING!” But I think by episode three it’s feeling like old episodes again? Remembering the original series was also heavy on cringe factor for humour.
And I know you addressed it but I kind of think it’s become kind of cool to complain about it - realistically what did we want or expect?
Agree. I really wanted to like this but I just rolled my eyes at nearly every 'woke' scene and there was plenty. It was so unrealistic and I don't care for the new woke characters as they seem to have been just planted. I did enjoy the movies, unlike most people. Will also still watch it, I don't know why but I've started so will finish. I never expected it to be amazing but I thought I'd like it. I hate the way the main women went from being confident and intelligent (miranda) to people who are terrified to put a foot wrong. Don't get me wrong I see what they were trying to do but it's as if they had to tick every single box ans failed. Watch Harlem on amazon prime. Reminds me of Satc but has an all black cast and is funny