Have you heard? There’s now an over-50s TV show on HBO. “And Just Like That,” the reboot of “Sex and the City,” has revived the old gang (Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte — minus Samantha) in present-day New York City, 17 years after its last episode aired. Yes, it turns out that humans — even women — can persist humans beyond the age of 38. Unbelievable!
At least that seems to be the perspective of AJLT, which depicts a world of middle-aged characters hanging in constant amazement and discomfort over everything they encounter, from everyday political and social phenomena to their own bodies. (Warning: spoilers ahead.)
“It’s as if the characters have slept for twenty years and woke up totally stunned to encounter things like black professors, non-binary children, and homosexual desires,” said Joy Castro, 54, a writer and professor of English and ethnic. studies at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
The characters seem Rip Van Winkle-esque, as they stumble and blink in surprise at unsurprising things. “Wow! Insta? Podcasts?” Miranda marvels at some of Carrie’s latest endeavors, as if these were edgy new ventures.
Some of the “Van Winkle-iest” moments involve Miranda’s foot-and-mouth disease when she comes into contact with Nya Wallace, the black professor in her new human rights graduate program. Charlotte, too, displays a strange clumsiness as she cultivates a new friendship with the glamorous Lisa Todd Wexley, a rich, stylish black woman she meets through her daughters’ private school.
“The show is now trying to wake up without succeeding,” said Cheryl Packwood, 60, a lawyer and retired diplomat. “I never liked the show to begin with; it was just so white and shallow. It’s not at 55 that you suddenly try so hard to have a black boyfriend.”
But aside from the external factors of race and politics, the protagonists seem most at ease with their own bodies and age, to which they often, unnaturally and often loudly refer.
Examples galore:
Over brunch, a discussion about Miranda’s decision to go gray turns into a barbed discussion about the ethics of hair color. To Miranda, Carrie’s signature blonde highlights make it through the basket because they’re “obvious” — clearly artificial, so not trying to cheat anyone. But Charlotte’s preference for maintaining a more natural tan doesn’t meet Miranda’s ethical standards.
Charlotte is “trying to carry on” as a youngster, Miranda says disapprovingly. “There are more important things in the world than trying to look young,” she said. Women do talk about hair and aging, but in general, they don’t make salon choices grounds for moral condemnation over omelets.
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Waiting in a long line for ladies’ restrooms in a theater, Miranda loudly blurts out to a crowd, “I’m 55 and I need to pee,” before going to the (empty) men’s restroom. Props to her for feeling free enough to step out of the women’s restroom line. But I don’t know of any midlife people who think like that and announce their own age, as if they just learned how old they were.
The display of age shocks often feels cheap and a bit undignified. In another bathroom scene, Charlotte’s husband, Harry, stands by the commode, urinating for an inordinately long (and loud) interlude. When Charlotte expresses her dismay, Harry praises his urological health and recalls his own advanced years: “Many men my age cannot muster such a flow.” We’re further reminded of Harry’s age (and excretory systems) when Charlotte loudly books his colonoscopy appointment on her cellphone—at a cafe, and mentions it a few more times later.
It’s true that people over 50 get colonoscopies, and you could even use this for some meaningful comedy or human drama. But just naming “colonoscopy” as if it were a punch line itself does it become another item on a laundry list of clichéd “middle-aged woes.”
Continuing the potty humor, after Carrie’s hip surgery (which allows for much more “old lady” and “senior” comment), an extended sequence involves Charlotte awkwardly maneuvering her up and out of a hospital toilet and checking Carrie’s urine flow.
That scene ties into a discussion between Miranda and her new love interest, the non-binary Che (Carrie’s podcast boss) about his diverticulosis. (Even Che, hipper and ten years younger than the others, isn’t exempt from plumbing issues.)
Rather than illuminating the texture and richness of midlife, AJLT seems focused on just pointing at it from an uncomprehending, slightly mocking distance. And for a show that has built its reputation on the frank discussion of physical taboos, why isn’t there a mention of the universal challenges of menopause — or its male counterpart, andropause?
One of the highlights of SATC was the characters’ long-standing friendship, deep bonds and history. This could easily provide a wealth of material for the remake, and sometimes it does — such as in scenes where Miranda lovingly comforts a grief-stricken Carrie.
But at other times, the peculiar “different age” hinders more natural exchanges. For example, if Miranda sees Carrie sitting outside on the Columbia campus, she’ll yell, “See you! You’re the only 55-year-old on the college stairs!” – a strange, age-fetishing way to describe your best friend of decades. (Universities also have a lot of older people.)
When Harry Miranda’s husband Steve greets with “What’s new?” the once boyish and playful bartender, now a bit blank and unimpressive, can only come up with, “I have hearing aids. I am now a vintage car.” Miranda then assists with specific medical details.
Old friends don’t greet each other like that. And while middle-aged men often experience hearing loss, they tend not to announce it before saying “hello” or defining themselves with this physical condition.
In general, such interactions offer a cartoonish look in middle age, pushing it all the way into old age (and a stereotypical view of that too). “The show shows people over 50 as if they were actually old, not middle-aged,” said Jamy Buchanan Madeja, 60, an environmental lawyer and adjunct professor at Northeastern University School of Law.
The series attempts to tackle the many problems of aging: loss, death, strained marriages, changing sexual desires, and an unease with new social mores. This aspect of AJLT can be very relatable: “I identify with the questions about what you need from a long-term relationship,” said Jennifer Brinkman, chief of staff to Lincoln’s mayor, Neb. “I am going through a divorce myself at the age of 50.”
And, she added: “I have certainly experienced awkward moments, such as Miranda and Charlotte’s, which reveal how I am not comfortable with the language my children and colleagues have in connection with the evolving gender and sexuality spectrum of our society. . But I want to!”
But so much more could be done with this group of older best friends and their beloved hometown. “Sex and the City” resonated with audiences because, regardless of its flaws, it appreciated and delights women’s adventurous spirit—whether it was channeled into the thrill of love and sex, friendship, fashion and beauty, or the pure fun of New York City itself. AJLT could easily find age-appropriate equivalents of these for the group to enjoy.
There are real benefits to this stage of life: increased self-confidence; know your own mind; the soul-nourishing connection and, yes, booming fun and laughter found in relationships (with friends, lovers, family) that have deepened over time. Midlife can also be the best years for professional success and achievement.
But in the first few episodes, AJLT shows few of these benefits, focusing instead on the characters’ decay, confusion, and cultural alienation. And there seems to be very little left of the group’s careers.
What’s more, for all the focus on growing physical old, the show’s protagonists often behave with curious immaturity. For example, many viewers were stunned by Carrie’s reaction when they discovered Big bent over, but still conscious, after his heart attack. Instead of calling the ambulance or getting his meds, Carrie falls to the ground and Piggy half chokes on her hair.
As Ms Castro said: “If someone finds his husband collapsed but still alive, don’t you call 911 right away? Carrie’s behavior was so baffling to me.” Baffling, and strangely passive and ineffective—almost like a child’s. Charlotte, too, seems less than grown, crying so theatrically as she helps plan Big’s funeral that Carrie sends her home in a taxi. .
“You still hope, even on television, that women with a certain influence will play a stronger role in their own circumstances. I can’t imagine the same stagnation for men,” said Hollis Robbins, 58, dean of arts and humanities at Sonoma State University.
And why does Miranda choose to launch her new erotic relationship with Che – a full-throated orgasm – in Carrie’s kitchen, with Carrie in the next room? Isn’t loud, mindless sex within earshot of others exactly what her teenage son Brady is guilty of? (And what about Miranda’s historic disapproval of adultery when husband Steve was the offending party?) It all feels dissonantly adolescent.
Stagnation in time is actually a core problem in AJLT. When Carrie finds herself too upset to stay in her empty house after Big’s death, she goes to her former apartment, which she leaves the next morning, dressed in something probably unearthed in her old closet: a floor-length white tutu from tulle. SATC aficionados will find this skirt familiar – it’s very similar to the one Carrie wore in the original SATC series finale, when Big follows her to Paris to finally bond with her.
A large, fluffy white tutu is the antithesis of widows’ weeds. It visually returns our heroine to her glory days. (She wore a shorter white tutu in the opening titles of the original show.) We understand why Carrie would want to wear it now, as a sartorial for the loss of Big. At the same time, however, the tutu looks a bit “out of” – inappropriate for the age and out of fashion. On the street we see people staring at it.
It feels like the show’s creators are still looking for ways to develop their now-aged characters in believable, interesting ways — to “dress” them appropriately for their time and place. And so, like Carrie in her throwback tutu, they end up reminding us all too strongly of the passage of time, in an incongruous, deviant way.
Since the last footage we have of this gang dates back to 2004, rediscovering them after 17 years would always have produced the first stab of remorseful surprise. It’s normal to feel a little shocked or uncomfortable when you run into a friend you haven’t seen in decades.
But it’s not natural to feel this kind of shock or discomfort about yourself, your environment, and the people you see every day — and feel it over and over. Because there is nothing shocking about being over 50, or any age really, as one has necessarily already gone through all the previous ages. After all, aging is just another word for “life” – and we all do it in small steps, day by day. If only the characters in AJLT had been given the same opportunity.
