Is Carrie Bradshaw Selfless Now?

When the news hit that Sex and the City was getting a sequel series, And Just Like That…, fans knew it couldn’t possibly be the same. Kim Cattrall’s well-publicized choice not to return to the role of Samantha was only the most obvious indicator — even if she had come back, viewers would be reuniting with the characters after they’d had marriages, children, career wins, career losses and all the other major changes that come with a couple of decades of living. And Just Like That… has honored both its protagonists and the fans who’d grown into middle age with them by portraying its leads as busy, vital and (most importantly) horny. But after watching the first six episodes of the imminent third season, I can’t help wondering: Is Carrie going to have ANY fun this season?

This is a serious question, because And Just Like That… has really taken its time giving Carrie any joy at all. The series premiere ends in the death of her husband. A couple of episodes later, she has hip surgery that keeps her out of high heels during her long recuperation. Her first blind date as a widow ends in her and her date drunkenly vomiting in the street. When she makes herself available as a lunch date for a fundraising auction, no one bids. “Single and fabulous” apparently requires an even bigger question mark if you’re in your 50s.

But in the second season, things start to look up for Carrie. She enters into a casual hookup situation with her podcast producer, Franklyn (Ivan Hernandez). A bike accident meet-cute with George (Peter Hermann) helps Carrie determine what she doesn’t want in a relationship. Carrie decides to see what might happen if she were to reconnect with Aidan (John Corbett) — who, after Big (Chris Noth), is probably her second-most-serious ex. His lingering PTSD about her apartment, given all the bad times they had there, finally convinces her to sell it and find a place that’s new to them both. Then Aidan’s 14-year-old son Wyatt (Logan Souza) causes a crash while driving drunk and underage. Aidan decides he can’t commit to a life with Carrie until Wyatt’s out of his teens, and Carrie agrees that they can take a five-year break before coming back to each other. The choice looks antithetical to the show’s seeming thesis that women in their 50s still have a lot of living to do; and no one knows better than the widowed Carrie that none of us is promised a tomorrow, never mind half a decade. 

In the season premiere, the Carrie/Aidan situation isn’t getting great reviews. When Carrie happily burbles about such tokens of love as a blank postcard from Aidan in Virginia, her best friends Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) pointedly suck on their cocktail straws in order not to have to affirm Carrie’s excitement. When Seema (Sarita Choudhury) complains about the strain of her long-distance relationship with Ravi (Armin Amiri) while he directs a Marvel movie in Egypt, her amazement that Carrie needs so little affirmation from her partner feels like an insult wrapped in a compliment. Anthony (Mario Cantone) is the most direct, aggressively asking why Carrie doesn’t know when she’s going to see Aidan next and what exactly she means when she says they’ll “figure it all out,” but later walking it back with apologies after his boyfriend Giuseppe (Sebastiano Pigazzi) suggests that Anthony could stand to be a little less himself sometimes.

Impressively, though, the portrayal of Carrie and Aidan’s relationship is fair to everyone involved. When Carrie contrives a reason to come to Virginia for work, it’s totally reasonable for her to want Aidan to ask her to stay for a visit; it’s also reasonable for him to want to Wyatt by keeping him away from the woman Aidan kept traveling to see before Wyatt’s drunken accident. Carrie understands why her friends are concerned about her self-abnegation for Aidan’s sake; she also understands that when you date in your 50s, your partners are going to bring more traces of their former lives into the relationship than when everyone was in their 20s. But all this good-natured compromise means no one’s getting all, or even most, of what they want. The show contrasts Carrie with Seema, who has a long list of dealbreakers she’s not willing to compromise on in her dating life, and who makes a major career change out of what seems like pride and spite. Is Carrie right to bend to accommodate Aidan, or is Seema right never to give an inch? There isn’t a road map for doing any of this, and they’re both making points!

When she’s not being extremely generous to her partner and his family at her own expense, Carrie gets some funny moments — driving her first ATV; fleeing fearless city wildlife; doing her best to slay in prairie-chic fashions. I won’t spoil her best gag except to say it involves her downstairs tenant, Duncan Reeves (Jonathan Cake), and her gracious but pointed response to a possibly ive-aggressive, definitely ill-chosen gift. 

The outright clownery falls to Nixon and Davis, who are always game for it. Miranda gets invited to do an interview on the BBC and, with a too-long pause, accidentally makes herself a profane meme; her son Brady (Niall Cunningham) is a little too eager to be the one who first sends it to her, so I don’t blame her for not rushing to spend time with him this season. Since Rosie O’Donnell’s appearance in the third season has already been announced, I think I’m safe saying her scenes are with Miranda. Even if their relationship doesn’t go the way either of them would probably prefer, they have great chemistry as scene partners. An episode about Miranda’s many shortcomings as Carrie’s temporary roommate is a subtle reminder that Miranda’s still in her second adolescence as a queer person. Historically, Carrie’s been the flakiest one, and it takes a beat for both of them to adjust to their new dynamic.

Davis is in her element twittering about her usual concerns: determining whether her bulldog menaced a yappy little terrier and trying to get him un-cancelled in the neighborhood; trying to understand her daughter Lily (Cathy Ang) and her open relationship with a free-wheeling ballet dancer; pushing herself to stay up way too late with the other gallerinas during a major art event. But Davis always had the depth to handle tougher material, and it doesn’t take long before she gets to prove it when a family member faces a serious health crisis. The patient’s request that Charlotte keep it secret tortures her, and underlines the importance the show (and its progenitor, Sex and the City) has always placed on the women’s friendships.

With regard to the newer additions: Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker) has a lot of sparkle and style in her scenes, but I completely forget about her whenever she’s on screen. Seema’s still being positioned as a substitute Samantha — an impossible standard no character could meet and honestly a rude comparison for me even to make, but since I have — she’s not there yet. Still, I’m stressed that the episodes provided to critics leave her on a downswing. (As for Samantha herself: After the first two seasons let us down, I think we’ve probably all officially given up on her ever returning while still secretly hoping they’re just waiting to spring her on us with no notice and pull off the gag of the century.) 

At least for these first six episodes, Aidan and Carrie’s attempts to “figure it all out” are the knottiest story thread. I’m as shocked as anyone to be this invested in Carrie’s relationship with the likes of Aidan, someone I never thought was right for her in her high-strung 30s, but could be just right for her in her mellower 50s if his son could just figure his stuff out. The first half of the season makes us follow Carrie through suffering and sacrifice; and just like that, I’m desperate for the back half to give us all a break.