Here’s where I issue a caveat/humble brag: I attended the splashy premiere in New York – complete with an after-party in the space that used to be Barneys (#RIP) – and it pagne and a very receptive audience.
But while I acknowledge your criticisms and share your outrage at Carrie for using her husband’s death as a photo-op, I would remind you of one thing: “Sex and the City” was never exactly subtle
The characters have always been ridiculous! Charlotte was always a retrograde priss, Carrie has always been slow to adapt new forms of communication despite being a professional communicator – remember how she took years to buy a cellphone and was mystified by EMAIL? None of this is new. I swear!
What is new is all the death and the specter of mortality that hangs over the first batch of episodes. It’s not just Big’s fatal spin on the Peloton – can I start using “taking your 1,000th ride” as a euphemism for death? – but also the many references to the “horror show” of the pandemic. (Speaking of which, given Cynthia Nixon’s race for governor, I really hope they find a way to make some Cuomo jokes.) Garson’s lovely performance, particularly his scenes at Big’s funeral, give the show a poignance I don’t think it’s ever had before.
“Sex and the City” was always at its best when it balanced the outrageous with the sincere. There’s plenty of the usual decadence: Carrie and co. still show up at the most mundane gatherings dressed like absolute lunatics, but they’re all dealing with very recognizable issues that come with middle age, long-term marriages and parenthood.