And Just Like That...

There’s a lot to admire here, actually, such as a real push towards inclusion which isn’t just limited to the wonderful Sara Ramirez, getting a true breakout role as comedian and podcast host Che Diaz. There’s a greater feel of community to this show, as the ensemble feels richer and more developed.

And Just Like That tries too hard to bring its cultural brand into a new era, but it reclaims a core humanity lacking in the previous franchise extensions.

For all its heavy-handed flaws and self-indulgent tendencies, the new series shows an earnest devotion to grow along with its audience, whether that’s by inviting fresh faces to their dinner tables or acknowledging that no one (not even Carrie) stays the same forever.

It captures a lot of the heart and charm that the original did, alongside some hard emotional truths. And despite a lot of doubt on the part of viewers when this project was announced (especially sans Samantha), as of the first two episodes the show has genuinely made a case for its return.

Viewers who can make it past this bumpy beginning, this new chapter starts to settle into its changes in the second episode.

That, to me, is the most striking thing about And Just Like That. By getting away from the sex and the city of it all, in 2021, it actually feels a bit more real. ... And Just Like That marries the optimism and breathless wonder of a 1998 Carrie Bradshaw with the weariness that accompanies, as Samantha once said, decades of “lies and mutually accepted delusions.” And just like that…evolution.

And Just Like That… gets Sex and the City back to basics. There are still guffaws and glamour – Parker, in particular, looks unsurprisingly spectacular – but it also has emotional heft. Elements here are certainly missed, from Carrie’s near-absent voiceover to the retired theme music, but these first two episodes are otherwise a return to form.

No, this is not the classic Sex and the City we first fell in love with… but what it is now isn’t bad, either.