WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS SPOILERS
★★☆☆☆
If you had been wondering (of course you had!) how the “hotly awaited” sequel to Sex and the City would cope without its best character, the libidinous, outrageous, man-eating Samantha, the answer was: with difficulty. The pointed absence of Kim Cattrall as its fourth wheel in And Just Like That . . . meant the funny filth quota that became its progenitor’s byword in the 1990s (and, for me, the sole reason for watching because it was otherwise really quite annoying) was sadly much depleted.
Sarah Jessica Parker (Carrie), Cynthia Nixon (Miranda) and Kristin Davis (Charlotte) gamely tried to fill the Samantha-shaped hole with lame stuff about masturbation, gender-neutral toilets and teenagers leaving used condoms on bedroom floors, but it felt as though they were going through the motions, as if their hearts weren’t really in it. I feel sure Samantha would have said something witty, sharp and disgusting to Miranda’s line, “I stepped on my son’s semen,” but, alas, nothing came.
Instead there were many inclusivity themes as a lunge for relevance that only make you remember how funny and risky the un-PC Samantha could have made it. Still, at least they grasped the elephant in the room firmly by the tusks and even made an in-joke about it. Cattrall’s publicly expressed dislike of Parker (it was quite the toxic falling-out) is why she isn’t in this series. From the get-go it referenced Samantha’s absence, explaining that she had gone to “work in London” in a huff after Carrie had fired her as her publicist and now she wouldn’t return her calls. Saucers of curdled milk all round!
But then this also looks set to be the series in which the characters grow up a bit, hopefully in their fifties becoming less self-obsessed, “me, me me” prom queens thanks to a big reality check. Because the news is (big spoilers ahead) that, as well as clothes and shoes, it is about death and grief. “Death sucks,” Miranda said, to give you an idea of how the dialogue still isn’t terribly profound. The first episode ended with one of its big-name characters dying tragically after a workout on a Peleton bike (what else?), which was actually done very well and gave it the shock it needed. If you don’t want to know who it is then please read no further. It sets the stage for Carrie to spend the series as the best-dressed widow in Manhattan, not letting bereavement stop her from rocking a jaunty hat and a puffy skirt. At least we heard her call Mr Big by his real name, John, as he sat upright staring blankly stone dead from a heart attack.
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I wasn’t all that surprised by this death, to be honest, given that it had been rumoured as the theme for the third planned SATC film, which was cancelled after the second, risibly atrocious one, was panned. But even newly bereaved Carrie, naturally now a podcaster and Instagrammer rather than a columnist, didn’t look terribly upset and was still co-ordinating her clothes beautifully, so her hidden shallows are still very much apparent.
It was a wise move, though, to create this situation. Who could have stomached a whole series of her living in smug, wedded bliss and opulent splendour (this the woman who used to constantly plead poverty while spending $600 on Manolo Blahnik sling-backs) while calling her shoes “my lovers”? It was a nice, dark twist, but whether it will give this series soul remains to be seen.
And Just Like That . . . is on Thursdays on Sky Comedy/Now
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