And Just Like That review: 'Four and a half minutes in, I realise I loathe these characters'
Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw in And Just Like That.
The first episode of AJLT’s second season opens with the key female characters striding out of their respective bathrooms to behold their significant other draped sexily on the bed. The ladies are swathed in slithery lingerie and they all are bad ass, baby. We know this because of the arched eyebrows, powerful postures, and inferred orgasms.
All except poor Nya whose man is off touring, so she has to use her bed to watch streaming television with an air of dissatisfaction. I know how she feels.
The main drama seems to revolve around THE MET BALL, and who to bring, and what to wear and in Charlotte’s case, how to stop your children lecturing you on “upholding the patriarchy and gender normative concepts of beauty” so they can help pull your corset tighter because you’re going to THE MET BALL.
Four and a half minutes in, I realise I loathe these characters. They are self-absorbed idiots. Are we supposed to empathise with these women? Seema, a realtor who recently sold Tom Forde’s condo, rings Carrie as she’s in her kitchen learning how to poach an egg. “Did you get the caviar I sent?” she thrills. It’s a gift for inviting her to THE MET BALL, you see. Carrie’s just finished having an irritatingly inane post-coital conversation with her Thursday regular.
We’re supposed to be agog that she’s having the ride, even though she’s still grieving for Mr Big. But don’t worry, she has a heart-to-arsehole chat about it with non-binary Che, because gasp!, Mr Thursday has invited her to go to a rooftop bar where his friend is launching his bourbon line, but it’s happening on a Tuesday, so you can see her dilemma.
“Underneath that chill, he’s a dude,” reveals Che. And she doesn’t know what’s going on in that man’s head.
Along with THE MET BALL, this is fairly prominent theme. The writers don’t seem to know what men are, or how they speak, behave, or function.
We get gems like: “Men aren’t that emotional” and “Men are dumb, with feelings.” One character, the husband of Charlotte’s friend, Lisa, starts off by admonishing her for not taking his money to finance her new documentary so she can stay home and keep on top of his tie situation, then spends an embarrassing amount of time begging her to allow him to give her oral sex in their walk-in wardrobe.
She begrudgingly agrees, giving him a seven-minute time limit, as long as he doesn’t mess up her hair and make-up because in case he didn’t realise, they’re going to THE MET BALL.
There are some moments I *think* are supposed to be funny, but those bits just add to the tired stereotypes that I imagine the writers are desperately trying to avoid, so it boggles my brain the scenes that make it to the final cut.
Like when Miranda, who’s moved to LA to be with Che, is wrestling with a startlingly large strap-on penis and just can’t figure it out, flailing about in the background like a red-haired Inspector Clouseau while Che gabs on the phone with Carrie about her Mr Thursday problems. “Some relationships are just about sex. And that’s awesome,” she says. Who ARE these people?
Five minutes later she’s ugly crying because she’s on a diet and doesn’t want Miranda to touch her big belly. (At last, something I can relate to!) Then Charlotte’s gay friend Anthony breathes in her face, ” I’m so excited. THE MET BALL. God, I love balls.” Seriously? This is the best they can do?
I don’t care how old they are, or who they’re having a bit of jiggy-jiggy with. I want smart, funny, dialogue from likable characters who live interesting lives and wear fabulous fashion. And like the pizza company that got my address wrong three times, And Just Like That doesn’t deliver.
“Life’s too short not to try something new,” coos Carrie over her poached fecking egg. It’s also too short to watch this ever again.
