Spoiler alert! The following story contains details about the series finale of “Sex and the City” sequel “And Just Like That…” (now streaming on HBO Max).
You know that old Bible verse: “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; my toilet runneth over.”
It sounds a lot like the series finale of “And Just Like That…,” which launched unholy scatological warfare against our beloved Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), who had merely hoped to spend a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with her dear friends after her romances with Aidan (John Corbett) and Duncan (Jonathan Cake) fizzled. Instead, Carrie’s holiday is filled with a revolving door of haughty art dealers and Gen Z queerdos, one of whom clogs the toilet and expels a sea of brown that Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is forced to clean up.
A magical land called Manhattan, this is not.
In some ways, it’s an apropos ending for “And Just Like That…,” which in three seasons found stunning new ways to humiliate and torture our “Sex and the City” heroines. An entire episode devoted to Charlotte (Kristin Davis) feuding at the dog park? Send the meteor. Carrie listening to Aidan masturbate in his truck after he imposes a five-year break to focus on his kids? Virginia is not bad enough — truly, take him to the Hague.
Like dutiful piggies awaiting their slop, we tuned in every week to see what fresh hell was in store for these once-nuanced characters, who during the original 1998-2004 run of HBO’s “Sex and the City,” were as scintillating as a fresh pair of Manolos. “Sex” was the rare show that could tackle infertility and exhibitionist kinks in the same breath; it never spoke down to its viewers nor judged its central foursome. (Kim Cattrall, who played the voracious and va-va-voom Samantha, wisely sat out the sequel series.)
Meanwhile, “And Just Like That…” could never figure out what kind of show it wanted to be. The original cast was whiter than Miley Cyrus’ veneers, and creator Michael Patrick King attempted to rectify that by adding a slew of racially and sexually diverse new characters. But despite the best efforts of Sarita Choudhury (as Seema) and Nicole Ari Parker (as Lisa), their shoehorned storylines contained neither logic nor depth. At least we’ll always have the memory of Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) and their comedy concerts.
More egregiously, after spending the entire first season grieving her husband, Mr. Big (Chris Noth), we naïvely hoped that Carrie would dip her toe back into the dating pool as an older yet no less adventurous woman. Instead, the writers dredged up her past, wasting the next two seasons on a stagnant relationship with Aidan that merely rehashed their pent-up resentments and insecurities.
The series finale finds Carrie confronting her singledom and asking herself, “Who will I be alone?” It’s a worthwhile question: According to a 2020 survey by the Pew Research Center, 29% of women between the ages of 50 and 64 are single; that number jumps to 49% for women over 65. “And Just Like That…” had an opportunity to show the pains and glories of single life for women like Carrie, who was once a witty, wide-eyed emblem for hopeless romantics everywhere.
Instead, the final episode almost looks down on Carrie’s relationship status with pity. When she goes stag to a Chinese restaurant, servers plop a plush doll in the seat across from her “so you don’t have to eat alone.” On Thanksgiving Day, she goes door to door delivering pies to her closest pals, most of whom are too busy with their respective families and partners to celebrate with her. For a show that’s long insisted that all you really need are your best girlfriends, it’s disappointing that Carrie spends practically the entire episode in the company of strangers.
“I have to stop thinking, ‘Maybe a man,’ and start accepting maybe just me,” Carrie tells Charlotte early in the episode. “It’s not a tragedy, it’s a fact.” And in the final scene of the series, Carrie eats dessert alone in her kitchen before dancing around her cavernous townhouse to Barry White’s “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything.”
It’s a sweet sentiment of self-love, but one that feels too tacked on and hastily written to pack an emotional wallop. And after nearly 30 years of knowing and loving Carrie, she deserved far better than this treacly Hallmark sendoff.
On Aug. 1, when King announced “And Just Like That…” was ending, Parker penned a lengthy tribute on social media that made me tear up, capturing the wild, wonderful whims of our cosmo-sipping fashionista in all of her beautiful messiness. “Carrie Bradshaw has dominated my professional heartbeat for 27 years,” the actress wrote. “I think I have loved her most of all.”
You can flush the rest – that’s how we’ll choose to remember “Sex and the City.”
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: ‘And Just Like That’ series finale disrespects Carrie Bradshaw
