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Cynthia Nixon: "Sex and the City"

 NYT readers are complaining about Miranda Hobbes, from "Sex and the City."


"This is not the Miranda I know." "Miranda has become thoughtless!"

By contrast, I think some of the new Cynthia Nixon material is thrilling. I think people change; people can become unmoored. Alcohol intake did increase during the early stages of the pandemic; vineyards went after women, specifically, with ads about "mommie juice." It makes sense to me that Miranda would begin drinking more as a way to avoid thoughts about her stagnant marriage.

I loved that the writers made Miranda so brutal this week. She applauds herself immediately after the conversation with Steve; that moment of self-congratulation is hard to watch. ("It's like I'm in a rom com!") Readers found it implausible that Miranda wouldn't take time to speak with her adolescent son before meeting up with Che--but this bit of monstrousness was exciting to me. I think Miranda's sense of weakness and frenzy is by far the most interesting thing about this new HBO series.

It's maybe unfair to compare "Carrie Bradshaw Redux" to Pamela Adlon's Peabody-winner, "Better Things." But: oh well. One thing I admire about "Better Things" is that relationships never follow scripts: A divorced woman visits her ex-husband with fetish gear, and five uncomfortable minutes unfold. Sam Fox would like to detach from her ex, but when she tries to understand his bad behavior, she finds she is still far from a Zen state of indifference. I hope that Steve will stick around, in Miranda's world, and I hope that Cynthia Nixon--a TV producer, these days, and not merely a paid performer--will continue to push her writers to make us Americans squirm, and squirm, and squirm.

My two cents.

P.S. I really loved Miranda's little "pre-chat" speech about Steve's missing hearing aid. (And Steve: "Just shout into my working ear!") So awkward. TV highlight of the week!
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