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And Just Like That: A New Chapter of "Sex and the City"

 Great writing is about memorable characters -- and though I understand the objections to "And Just Like That," I'd just encourage you to notice the funeral scene, and notice everything that is going on.


Miranda may or may not have a drinking problem. We see her wandering into bars before they are open. At Big's funeral, Miranda actually has to pressure a young server to pop open the wine before the eulogies are delivered. Meanwhile, an older guest makes the event about her *own* life: "No one understands your suffering, Carrie, but I do. And *my* suffering was worse, because *my* husband died in the early days of the pandemic, before we had mastered even the Zoom shiva...."

Stanford gets in a fight with an aging secretary about seating assignments; Stanford's bullishness is tacky, but, also, he surely *does* help Carrie by sitting next to her. People applaud Carrie's stoicism, but one lone skeptic asks: "Is that really a good thing?" A shrewd critic in the back views the "Mr. Big" tribute speeches with disdain: "Has everyone forgotten his awful behavior toward Carrie Bradshaw? Awful--for years."

A thuggish teen sneaks in a puff of pot after the talks (he is perhaps aping his own addict-mother, but the mother doesn't see it that way). Emotions make everyone crazy; Charlotte worries she has angered Carrie by insisting on a certain piano recital, and Charlotte's tears cause an undertaker to think that Charlotte is actually Carrie. Carrie hates the funeral home in question, and leaves, and the undertaker mistakenly thinks that her gaffe is the main problem. In a moment of catharsis, Carrie admits that she *is* angry, but angry at herself: "I should have gone to the Hamptons Wednesday. That's what I wanted." She hits the word *wanted* with a sense of wonder: There is a strange, hostile voice inside of me, identifying my own desires and then subverting those desires! And now my husband is dead.

This script is the invention of a formerly-blue-collar gay guy from Scranton, Pennsylvania. He is Michael Patrick King, and I have lingering fondness for his work. I'm not sure where we're headed with Carrie, but I'm not ready to dismiss her yet.
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