RANT
Spoilers For: All of it but you can't spoil what's already rotten.
Every Thursday night I volunteer to be a part of an experiment where for an hour I am put in an extremely uncomfortable Kafkaesque nightmare. I’m forced to watch grotesque sex with loved ones, hear triggering semi-racist jokes, and run scenarios where I watch all my dreams die.
I’m talking of course about being an audience to the Sex and the City reboot: And Just Like That.
Oh yes, I will not be choosing silence today. Let’s start a tacky attempt to stay relevant–self-conscious boomer style. The new accessory this season is a BIPOC friend. Hey kids it’s Sex and the City but they’re woke now AND they still don’t get it. It’s a Pander-monium
No, no. Let’s start instead with production having Willie Garson act in funeral scenes as he was dying IRL. Oh and then to make Stanford's exit from the show as memorable as any one of Samantha’s random one night stands was just a chef’s kiss Ala garbage. And if any of you are surprised to know that Willie Garson is no longer with us (RIP you legend) the show tried to tell us… by putting the In-Memory AT THE END OF THE CREDITS!
Why did they do my boy Stanny so dirty?
What else? Oh yes, there’s the character assassination of Charlotte, having Miranda cheat with zero remorse even though we spent an entire movie watching her sob about Steve’s infidelity (btw hers is so so SO much worse), and then there’s the big elephant in the room. Wait, it's not in the room. It’s in London. Samantha isn’t there and we’re supposed to believe that she destroyed her friendships over money?
I HATE you, Michael Star Patrick. I HATE YOU!
But don’t think I’m forgetting the opening act to this Circus of Horror. We’re in the first episode, and things are going alright. It’s good to see old friends, loving the outfits. Anthony just said “Black Charlotte”. Okay cringe but I’ll forgive it. I’m sad Samantha isn’t here but it seems the show is giving the audition reel for a replacement sassy friend. Awkward.
Oh, look an overt Peloton ad on screen mid action. So annoying when they try to do that. I mean, I do kinda want a Peloton. Big is looking pretty fine for his age—wait, why is Lily’s piano recital juxtaposed with Big’s ride?
They aren’t going to— no they wouldn’t.
It’s not stopping.
He is grabbing his arm.
The music is getting more dramatic.
Stop!
Stop it right now…
And just like that, the Big dream died….
All women have someone they think of as their Big. They’ve got that Niagara Falls pull on you. It usually fucks up your life for a while but you secretly will let them do it again. Why? Because maybe it will turn into a happy ending. At least in imagination land. Because in reality, most men are trash. I’m looking at you, Chris Noth.
I, myself, I’m somewhat of a Big collector. I have done the Disappearing-Act Big, the Too-Old-For-Me Big, the Pretentious-Snob Big, the Rich-Money-Daddy Big, and my favorite, the Sex-Is-So-Good-Imma-Play-This-Mind-Game Big. None of them have ended with a romantic kiss on a bridge in Paris. For the last fifteen years, I’ve been okay with that because at least Carrie gets the happy ending. At least my dreams play out on television. Until now. Not even in make-believe does the girl get the guy. The literal death of Big somehow killed the fantasy of Big.
It’s like we were baited with a show about Carrie enjoying marriage but once we reached for it, they yanked it all away, and the box fell. Now, we are in the terrifying darkness.
All of this feels like it happened because it’s easier to write Carrie single. As if the creators didn’t realize we enjoy our SATC yearly rewatches. We don’t need this. Just like we don’t need to see Brady having sex. Stop pulling storylines from middle-aged ladies’ fan fiction, and just apologize to all of us. End the episode Dallas style with John coming out of the shower so we can breathe a sigh of relief and go back to bed.
Or just burn this footage and give us Samantha’s Ab-Fab life in London instead.
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