The three-decade-long saga of Carrie Bradshaw and her circle of friends has finally reached its latest, and arguably most polarizing, conclusion with the series finale of “And Just Like That.” Born from the iconic “Sex and the City” and its often-debated film sequels, this continuation series was always destined to provoke strong reactions. It aimed to bring back beloved characters while introducing a diverse new ensemble, striving to capture the original’s spark in a changed world. At its peak, the show offered glimpses of that familiar magic, a “chef’s kiss” for long-time fans. Yet, its journey was undeniably a bumpy one, marked by creative choices that sparked widespread “complaining” and left viewers questioning the path taken. As the curtain falls on this chapter, we couldn’t help but wonder: what were the ecstatic highs and the dismal lows that defined “And Just Like That”?’
A Turbulent Re-Entry: The Weight of Expectations and Absences
The decision to revisit the beloved world of Carrie Bradshaw and her friends almost three decades after “Sex and the City” first graced screens came with immense pressure. “And Just Like That” was not merely a new show; it was a continuation, burdened by the weight of a fervent fanbase’s expectations and the indelible legacy of its predecessor. From its very inception, the series was thrust into controversy, most notably with the shocking death of Mr. Big (Chris Noth) in the pilot episode. For many, this abrupt end for the arguable love of Carrie’s life felt like a betrayal, shattering the hard-won fairytale ending the original series had built. It was, for some, the metaphorical “straw that broke the clotheshorse’s back,” an immediate jolt that signaled a dramatic departure from the familiar comfort of the past.
This onscreen tragedy unfolded against an unfortunate “trifecta of bleakness” off-screen, casting a long shadow over the inaugural season. The much-publicized absence of Kim Cattrall’s iconic Samantha Jones, a vital quarter of the “fabulous foursome,” due to “years-long strife” with lead Sarah Jessica Parker, left a palpable void. While the show attempted to address her absence through narrative devices, the continuous “teasing of communication” between Carrie and Samantha, without an actual physical return, often felt more frustrating than comforting. Compounding this, the real-life struggles surrounding Chris Noth during the season’s run, and tragically, the “offscreen death” of Willie Garson, who played Carrie’s beloved gay best friend Stanford Blatch, dealt further blows. These unforeseen real-world events, while unavoidable, deeply impacted the show’s ability to provide the familiar and comforting reunion that many fans craved, leaving them wondering if they were truly watching the show they thought they knew.
Moments of Authentic Resonance: Relationships Reimagined
Despite its rocky start, “And Just Like That” managed to find its stride in flashes, particularly in its nuanced exploration of evolving relationships. One such high point was the surprisingly “authentic” portrayal of Carrie’s third breakup with Aidan Shaw (John Corbett) in the final season. Unlike their previous partings, which were often marked by betrayal or commitment issues, this latest separation resonated with the bittersweet reality that some relationships, despite profound love and affection, simply cannot overcome ingrained challenges. Their “sad trilogy of breakups” serves as a poignant punctuation mark to Carrie’s romantic journey throughout the franchise, acknowledging her human flaws and the enduring complications of certain connections, even years later.
Moreover, the series excelled in developing new friendships that felt both genuine and necessary for its aging protagonists. The evolving bond between Charlotte York Goldenblatt (Kristin Davis) and Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker), affectionately known as LTW, became one of the most satisfying dynamics. LTW emerged as Charlotte’s perfectly matched “Type A powerhouse,” whose equally refined demeanor allowed for a “light-as-a-feather touch” in their interactions. A particularly touching moment unfolded in a swimming pool scene, where LTW offered solace to Charlotte grappling with the private burden of Harry’s cancer diagnosis, a quiet yet powerful demonstration of their meaningful connection. Similarly, real estate impresario Seema Patel (Sarita Choudhury) differentiated herself from the initial “cacophony” of new characters, blossoming into a vital “true confidante” for Carrie, effectively filling a void reminiscent of Samantha’s role in the original series, providing a much-needed grounding presence amidst Carrie’s tumultuous life.
Creative Missteps: Overcrowding and Disappearing Acts
From its very beginning, “And Just Like That” faced criticism for its ambitious, perhaps overzealous, expansion of its character roster. The attempt to introduce a diverse array of new faces often resulted in “overcrowded storylines,” diluting the narrative focus and making it challenging for viewers to deeply connect with the all-important interpersonal relationships that defined the original series. Characters like the chaotic non-binary stand-up comic Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) and the unfortunately “superfluous-feeling” Dr. Nya Wallace (Karen Pittman) often felt shoehorned into narratives, at times overshadowing the arcs of the core trio. While the show later made efforts to rectify this by “shuttling” some characters, the initial imbalance proved detrimental to its early reception.
Compounding the issue of character management were the profoundly mishandled exits of beloved legacy characters. The “write-off of Stanford Blatch” proved particularly jarring and disappointing for long-time fans. Acknowledging the profound difficulty of navigating Willie Garson’s real-life passing, the show’s decision to unceremoniously write off Stanford—Carrie’s “gay bestie” since the 1998 pilot—via a far-fetched story about him “becoming a monk in Japan” felt like a disservice to a character with such a rich history. “Stannie” deserved a more “emotional and resonant sendoff,” but the creators, seemingly “between a rock and a hard place” given the bleakness of the first season, opted for a bafflingly abrupt departure. Equally disappointing was the gradual “dismissal of Steve Brady.” While Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon) evolution throughout the series was undeniably fascinating, it came at the expense of her former husband, Steve (David Eigenberg). Despite their “electric” connection in the original series and films, Steve was largely sidelined, appearing in only a handful of episodes in the final season, a “missed opportunity” that left many fans yearning for a more fitting conclusion to their complex, enduring relationship.
Glimmers of Hope: Unexpected Charms
Amidst the narrative stumbles and controversial choices, “And Just Like That” still managed to conjure moments of genuine charm and introduce characters who sparked hope for new directions. One such “high” was the emergence of “Delightful Duncan,” played by the aptly named Jonathan Cake. This “suave, handsome and charming curmudgeon” of a downstairs neighbor offered a refreshing romantic possibility for Carrie. His initial gruffness slowly softened into a profound connection built on a shared passion for writing, suggesting a more mature, intellectually stimulating partnership for the protagonist. Their meet-cute—Duncan yelling at Carrie about her infamous heels clacking around her palatial townhouse—not only provided “ample opportunity to ogle Carrie’s famous footwear” but also birthed one of the show’s most quotable and humorous lines: “This is New York City. There’s noise.”
Duncan represented a compelling alternative to Carrie’s past loves, offering a relationship not rooted in dramatic baggage or long-standing history, but in present-day understanding and shared interests. While fans were by no means “rooting for a knight in shining armor to come sweep Carrie off her feet,” the subtle, organic development of their bond hinted at a potential future where Carrie could find genuine connection without sacrificing her independence. Duncan’s presence provided a glimmer of a different kind of “happily ever after” for Carrie, one that prioritized intellectual and emotional intimacy over grand, tumultuous romance, offering a quiet yet powerful contrast to the show’s more chaotic elements.
The Divisive Denouement: An Excrement-Filled Farewell
The series finale of “And Just Like That” was designed around the convivial backdrop of Thanksgiving, a holiday typically associated with warmth, family, and gratitude. However, the finished result strayed dramatically from this picture, culminating in what many viewers described as an “excrement-filled” and deeply unsatisfying conclusion. Just minutes before the series curtain fell forever, a baffling and widely panned scene unfolded, featuring Miranda on the floor, cleaning up a disgusting mess caused by a lactose-intolerant guest who had indulged in cheese appetizers. This “gag (and ‘gag’)” felt like a bizarre, almost punitive choice for a series finale, leaving a sour taste that for many viewers overshadowed any potential emotional resonance.
Beyond this perplexing visual, the general consensus was that other characters were given conclusions equivalent to “sending a loved one a blank vacation postcard”—impersonal, rushed, and profoundly unsatisfying. Storylines were abruptly curtailed, and resolutions felt forced or entirely absent. Carrie, the heart of the franchise, ultimately ended up “on her own,” a line from her novel, seemingly without Duncan or Aidan. For a character who once reveled in the romantic complexities of her life and found joy in “historic love letters for fun,” this solitary ending, devoid of a clear romantic future, struck many as an incongruous and unfulfilling final note, leaving fans to wonder if this truly was the last chapter they had hoped for in Carrie Bradshaw’s storied journey.
