You don't know what you have until it is gone. And what we had in the continuation of the continuation of “Sex and the City”, “and simply like that”, which ends this week after three seasons, was a cringey, sweet, deaf, moving, repulsive and fascinating snapshot of the late middle age of his iconic characters. Whether in horror, joy or a mixture of the two, I passed every episode. Most people I know had the same experience and said just as much on social media and in group chats. Now the journey is over and the last collective reaction of the audience is a grief – like the old joke about terrible food and small portions, but sincerely.
Maybe this is because “and just like that” finally seemed to take his step. When it started, the show felt like two concepts in the war: an organic development over time, the other a tedious, unpleasant attempt to update the social policy of the series, starting with a more varied line -up. Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte York Goldenblatt (Kristin Davis) could not simply age in the wealthy white women outside of the hits. The trio – thanks to the removal of Kim Cattrall and with it Samantha Jones no longer, no longer had to expand her horizon, which naturally did not come for her or apparently on the showrunner Michael Patrick King. Everyone became friends with a colored person who behaved more like a defined guide for the 2020s than as a protagonist. Charlotte mutilated pronouns. Miranda slept with a non-binary stand-up. Carrie had one Podcast! It was modern crazy libraries, a language that was spoken to the tin's tube of a not local spokesman.
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The kinks were slowly ironed. Miranda's friend Nya (Karen Pittman) and Paramour Che Diaz (Sara RamÃrez) disappeared, and with more space and time to establish themselves, Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker) and Seema Patel (Sarita Choudhury) came as an ensemble member. Seema, an extremely independent real estate agent, was an obvious structural replacement for Samantha up to her particularly close connection with Carrie. (LTW was more like Charlotte's mother friend, a reasonable niche.) But Choudhury penetrated Seema with her own extravagant energy and fulfilled a assigned role and added something to separate “and simply” from his predecessor.
As soon as the show built a new status quo, it could do the work to shed light on a certain phase of life, however ridiculous it may be. These women were incredibly privileged, but also in the fifties and gave the king and his writers a large area of little researched soil. Yes, it was ridiculous that Mr. Big (Chris Noth) tipped over on his peloton. It was also worthwhile to see how Carrie dealt with long-term grief and pretend to be a defined adults-a time in which relationships under the pressure of pragmatic concerns such as youthful moods such as fear of commitment strapping strapped down more often under pressure from pragmatic concerns such as the mix of families. Miranda gave “Sex and the City” a new life by being with other women. Charlotte took care of a spouse with cancer and confronted mortality. These were real, resonant problems, even when the women who confronted them wore exaggerated outfits.
If at all, “and just like that” was more stressed by his past than the updated present. Carrie's newly developed romance with Aidan Shaw (John Corbett) extended far beyond her obvious expiry date and was the show in nostalgia instead of using his open opportunities. When she finally broke it off and reconciled with her downward -facing neighbors, it was a positive sign that the surprise display that the show ended was particularly deep. “And just like that,” teased us that Carrie was playing the field just to see that the improved version of the show ended before it could start. Similar to Carrie himself, a colored narcissist was able to make an angry with an infectious feeling of romantic optimism and just as angry and annoy. But the balance seemed to tip over towards the latter – be it from real improvement or Stockholm syndrome of the audience, we will never find out. In retrospect, the only thing that is worse than an uncanny echo of a classic is no longer to be complained.
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