The title of And just like that was disconcerting. Why didn’t Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davis reprise the characters of Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte with the label of Sex and the City, one of the most recognizable brand names in television history? If it was about taking care of the brand in case the resurrection went wrong, it had already been eroded with some films between disappointing and atrocious. But the series knew how to explain itself with the broadcast of the first season.
The cast was expanded to give voice to more diversity, always maintaining that New York fantasy of Birkin bags; the duration of the episodes was extended to 45 minutes; and preferred to spend less time on sex and more on other kinds of anecdotes or conflicts. The main theme of the season, in fact, was Carrie’s grieving process after seeing her husband die.
In the second season, And just like that is even more comfortable in its shoes (Manolo Blahnik or Jimmy Choo, of course) and with a more choral philosophy from a good start. Sara Ramirez as Che, Sarita Choudhury as Seema and Nicole Ari Parker as Lisa may have a more secondary status, but if Michael Patrick King’s camera focuses on them in a particular episode, the comedy doesn’t suffer.
Che’s character has developed beyond the caricature of a non-binary person much criticized during the first season. His personality goes beyond the jokes about his gender identity and his sexuality, and even a meta-television commentary is introduced to intone a mea culpa before the detractors. Now she can be liked well or badly but the writers cannot be reproached for not having emancipated the character from the drawer (ideological?) In which she had put it.
Parker and Choudhury, on the other hand, show an overwhelming security as if they had been born to be part of this fictional universe. They are fundamental pieces to develop the art of And just like that when it comes to exploring stupendism: Seema with her cigarettes and her undisguised elitism and Lisa with that facade of an ideal mother, wife and professional but with that naturalness that Charlotte admires so much. Lovers of the most fanciful version of Sex and the City will enjoy the episode in which Nicole Ari Parker crosses New York during a snowstorm in order to look her best at an event at MoMA.
The only one the writers could cut is Karen Pittman as Nya. Her college professor profile of hers was used to lend a more intellectual and socially conscious patina to the first season, where an apology for the whiteness of Sex and the City was performed. However, now that And just like that enters a stage that is more consistent with her own essence, the character remains in no man’s land, far from the mentality of Manhattan.
In this new stage, in fact, structured episodes such as the Sex and the City that we loved can surprise: the presentation of sexual situations that culminated in conclusions or jokes, contributing to the normalization of doubts, problems or preferences. There is also the relaxed and frivolous spirit with absurd plots such as the theft of a Birkin or the need to recover a dress that ended up in a second-hand store. Michael Patrick King, who was a disaster in managing pacing and humor in films, finds the balance: And just like that is light, funny, at times even stupid, patiently approaches grief, and is always comforting.
And what is, really, the secret of And just like that? A Sarah Jessica Parker who understands Carrie Bradshaw, who blends in with her, who captivates the viewer to see that world through her eyes, who explores emotional and social insecurities from a highly studied nuance, and who has a calming presence that sells perfectly the essence of the character: why, wherever he goes, he is always an interesting presence, who attracts like a magnet, who captivates with his disinterest in being the center of attention. Both Carrie and SJP are a prodigy.
