Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City

Sexy, funny, touching and somehow as bright and relevant now as it was 25 years ago, if this is the last hurrah for the Tales of The City franchise – and with so many stories wrapped it, it certainly feels that way – it’s a good one.

Linney and Dukakis shoulder the weight of these new hours, although Morelli writes an edged selfishness into Mary Ann that would be irritating if not for Linney’s lithe, comedic handling of her self-absorption. ... The fact that this new San Francisco doesn’t invade “Tales of the City” is one of the show’s greatest attractions. That inevitability lurks around the periphery, but the timeless nature of Barbary Lane and the city’s loyalty to its mother figure somehow defeats its incursion. That in itself makes this series worth savoring.

The vibe is (for an update bent on respecting and reflecting contemporary social cues) strangely nostalgic, and that’s not a criticism. It works. ... The series’ strengths include super solid acting all around.

There are moments when the series is a bit too obvious in its efforts to be contemporary, in order to expand the saga of Barbary Lane beyond the 1970s sensibility where it began. A bit about a pair of twins, Ani and Raven (Ashley Park and Christopher Larkin), who are obsessed with becoming rich and famous through Instagram, is grating. But the attempts to reveal a wide range of sex and gender identities are generally refreshing, and they help make this return to Barbary Lane and the spectacular views from its roof a little more than nostalgic.

But even as I rolled my eyes or scratched my head at various developments, the performances and the optimistic (and very Maupin) spirit buoyed me through the whole thing. Turning Mary Ann into everyone’s most exhausting friend allows Linney to deploy her underrated comic chops. ... The new Tales is imperfect, but it’s beautiful enough in spots to qualify.

The nature of [Mary Ann and her daughter's] fractured bond will be legible enough to viewers without intimate familiarity with the previous installments. What will, perhaps, feel new is the somewhat dowdy approach to storytelling, a fundamental old-fashionedness that exists in interesting contrast to those elements of the story that are new.

The series has many faults, often gets lost in its own self-indulgence, but it’s easy to admire how much effort they’re putting into making something for a queer audience—both new and old.

A noble effort, a friendly burst of “we are family” sentiment arriving at a scary time.

Flawed, narcissistic and doing its best. Sometimes it’s doing its best a bit too hard.

Soppily sentimental, succumbing to Netflix bloat with 10 uneven episodes, it feels like a mopey Freeform soap when the focus turns to self-absorbed, gender-fluid millennials. [10 - 23 Jun 2019, p.9]

A woefully uneven Netflix version that makes "Tales" look stale, proving even with the near-mystical 28 Barbary Lane, you can't always go home again.

There are a handful of scenes where the writing, acting, and gutsiness of the underlying story cohere into something raw and striking and well made. In other moments, though, Tales of the City feels like a rough draft, both bloated and aimless.

Poignant but flavorless. ... The series, as stilted and theatrical as ever, remains a time capsule of the freewheeling San Francisco come and gone.