7 days ago
And Just Like That... season 3, review: Snappy and soapy, but we still miss Samantha
'I've discovered the joy of hate-watching,' says Miranda in the new series of And Just Like That… (Sky Comedy). The character is referring to her new-found obsession with a fictional Love Island-alike reality show called Bi Bingo. Yet she might have been talking about the Sex and the City spin-off itself.
When it sashayed onto our screens in 2021, this midlife sequel to the era-defining comedy was roundly ridiculed for its messy mix of momfluencers, mocktails and Manolos, not to mention the ham-fisted attempts at 'wokeness'. As excruciating as it was entertaining, it fell into the category of 'so bad, it's good', transfixing fans of the original like a camp car crash.
As it returns for a third run, there are signs that it's finally getting into its vertiginous-heeled stride. There is still plenty here to mock – and rest assured, we will – but there's also just enough of the old magic to make this a nostalgic guilty pleasure.
Last time out, Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) made the daft decision to wait five years before reuniting with ex-fiancé Aidan (John Corbett). They're now in a long-distance relationship where they communicate via blank postcards and phone sex. This is precisely as toe-curling as you'd fear. Corbett still sports a midlife crisis mullet and speaks in a whisper that's supposed to be sexy but comes off as creepy. Making his autistic son the main impediment to their romance feels unfair.
Otherwise, it's the usual giddy merry-go-round of gossipy brunches, chic parties and rich people's non-problems. Struggle not to weep with sympathy as Carrie has difficulty replacing an antique French window in her new Gramercy Park pile and is made to wait six months for her chaise lounge to be reupholstered. Feel your heartstrings tug as Charlotte (Kristin Davis) panics about doggy daycare for her pampered pooch and hires a 'college admissions consultant' to help her private-schooled children jump the Ivy League queue.
The show badly misses resident vamp Samantha (the absent Kim Cattrall), although she does pop up in text message form. She has effectively been replaced by two characters: purring estate agent Seema (Sarita Choudhury) and fashionista film-maker Lisa (Nicole Ari Parker), who is in the midst of making 'a 10-part PBS docuseries about unsung black she-roes', because, of course she is. This duo isn't fit to kiss Cattrall's strappy sandals, but do provide much-needed diversity.
Human rights lawyer Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is now on the wagon and comfortably the best character of the core trio – especially when she goes viral for dropping an accidental c-bomb on live TV. Pollyannaish princess Charlotte remains annoying. Although not as annoying as her non-binary offspring Rock (Alexa Swinton), whose sole function is to hector the older generation about political correctness. At least the insufferable Che (Sara Ramirez), who did the same job but more stroppily, has been jettisoned.
Talk-show host Rosie O'Donnell has an affecting cameo as a stranger whose virginity is taken by Miranda. No spoilers, but her name and profession facilitate a string of solid jokes. Class is added by a pair of scene-stealing Brits: Dolly Wells as a BBC producer who becomes Miranda's love interest and Jonathan Cake as Carrie's irascible downstairs neighbour. They clash over her constant clip-clopping across wooden floors but don't be surprised if their noise dispute develops into a Park Avenue take on Pride & Prejudice.
The script might be packed with soapy sub-plots and snappy one-liners, but And Just Like That… works best when the stakes are raised. Midway through the 12-part series, there's a shock medical diagnosis and a sudden bereavement. Both are handled deftly and demonstrate a welcome maturity. A couture-clad comedy about sexually liberated thirtysomethings has grown-up into an ensemble piece about the complications of life and friendship in your 50s. And just like that, things are looking up.
