And Just Like That has become the Modern Family nobody wants
And Just Like That spoilers follow.
If you think back through the distorting fog of And Just Like That, memories of Sex and the City are still clinging on, like bright glimmers of a distant past. The original savvy and chic show had its issues, but not much fell flat in what were tightly packed and expertly woven episodes.
Sex and the City ran the gamut of storytelling, from the heartbreak of Samantha's (Kim Cattrall) cancer battle and the death of Miranda's (Cynthia Nixon) mother all the way across the spectrum to Charlotte's (Kristen Davis) fear of oral sex and Carrie's (Sarah Jessica Parker) turf war with rooftop roosters near her brownstone.
But let's return to the present purgatory that is And Just Like That, into which the original show has exploded like a funhouse hall of mirrors.
In this new reality, side characters multiply like frightening growths, creating side character to the power of side character. This cast of surface-level people engage in storylines that gain a blip of momentum, just to fall back into the ether with no real understanding of why they were raised in the first place.
In this web of characters and their tedious drama, a discernible pattern has emerged within the first few episodes of the second season. The focus has shifted from the core friendship of the once-quartet to individual family units, reminiscent of the Modern Family division between the Dunphys, Pritchetts and Tuckers.
The misadventures of Charlotte, Lisa (Nicole Ari Parker), Che (Sara Ramirez) – and their cast of side characters – have cannibalised screentime. It now feels like Tony Danza, who is set to play Che's fictional father in their yawn-inducing sitcom pilot, has just as much screentime as Miranda.
But while Modern Family was lauded for its relatable gags and fresh exploration of family dynamics, And Just Like That feels the need to show us moments like Lisa sniffing her children's' breath while her husband complains about his tie or Charlotte telling her daughter Lily she can't have a new keyboard. Thrilling stuff.
The third episode sees And Just Like That plumb new depths of drivel as Charlotte and Lisa attend a PTA meeting at a school that doesn't look dissimilar to the one in Gossip Girl.
After some wasted dialogue on whether Miranda is a flower or a food-basket person, we learn of some "incident that has put the entire community at risk". It turns out one of the privileged peacocks at the school has drawn up a comprehensive "MILF list", creating what Charlotte imaginatively dubs "MILF-gate".
Lisa later pulls some strings and gets her hands on a copy of the ranking. We get a brief look at the list on Lisa's phone, long enough to clock that Lisa is second and Charlotte is third, which they jovially bat away.
The whole things descends further when Lisa and Charlotte lust after the list creator in the school corridor, calling him Milo H where "H is for hot", in slow motion scenes which feel so out of place in the stylish world of Sex and the City as to be mildly depressing.
Time and time again, what stands out as the travesty of And Just Like That is the missed opportunities. Why show us that list if you're not going to do anything with it? What was the point of this whole charade?
The original show largely focused on just four women, their friendship and the men they were seeing – sometimes to detrimental effect by Bechdel-test standards, but at other points beautifully and charmingly.
In Sex and the City's season-three episode 'Attack of the Five Foot Ten Woman', Charlotte is frank about her body insecurities. The perennially gorgeous art dealer keeps banging on about hating her thighs, but then hypes up Carrie's own looks when she's nervous about seeing Big's new girlfriend Natasha.
The storyline ends with Charlotte shedding her towel in the steam room, something she had earlier been afraid to do, and being told by another woman that she has enviable breasts. It's the perfect example of an initially fluffy storyline that touches on something more meaningful – that other people can see the beauty in you, even if you can't – all while interweaving the different storylines in a way that doesn't create this divide between the worlds of each of the women.
Instead of the zinger storylines, we now have half-baked thoughts shoehorned into bloated episodes. Plot points are truncated, pointless and largely feature smaller characters, none of whom we care about all that much. It's as if Michael Patrick King et al have grown tired of forming coherent arcs for these people, instead propagating a "that'll do" approach.
In the first season of And Just Like That an entire episode focuses on Charlotte and Lisa competitively playing tennis, set to 'Eye of the Tiger' – a cringey needle drop for naff scenes which you would never have associated with the smooth, jazzy glamour of the original Sex and the City.
While that storyline seemed like one of the ideas that should have been consigned to the scrap heap, but somehow weaselled its way on screen, those scenes have come to embody a sign of things to come, rather than a sad aberration.
And Just Like That, the sequel to Sex and the City, airs on Max in the US and Sky Comedy and NOW in the UK.
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