Sex and the City did many, many things wrong, but it was never ever boring. Though often corny and heavy-handed, it never took any but the biggest swings it could. The goal was to entertain, to get a laugh or two, even when it had something serious to say. The first season of And Just Like That… featured Big dying on a Peloton and introduced the iconically terrible Che Diaz to the world; both wild choices that made the poorly conceived series fun to watch. But now in its third season, the series is dour, focusing overmuch on sad, listless Carrie and her torturous relationship with Aidan. Though there are occasional glimpses at frothier subplots, And Just Like That… has lost whatever spark it had, which leaves me feeling like Kristen Johnston as the last fun person in New York:
Those sillier subplots have included such goofball concepts as Anthony’s sexy bakery staffed with men in denim rompers, Charlotte’s web of pill-popping prep school moms, and Carrie hiring a gardener who I still can’t believe is named Adam Gardens. Sure, these details make And Just Like That feel like a product of ChatGPT, but they’re also hilarious. They’re the sort of choices that you might find in a poorly written Harlequin romance novel that’s meant to be read aloud with friends and a bottle of wine. The series isn’t written by AI, but if these moments of janky unreality are the best things And Just Like That has going for it, maybe it should be?
There are two ongoing subplots on the show that encapsulate this feeling perfectly. The first is about Charlotte’s daughter Lily making eyes at a nimble young ballet star named Diego. Their relationship is initially played like a garden variety young romance; they make out everywhere, and they share infatuated gazes during rehearsals. When they start dating in earnest, Lily learns that Diego is poly and also dating a boy. AJLT plays this as a spicy reveal, but it also feels like something ChatGPT would fart out if someone entered the prompt, “gen z romance for boomers.” Mild flowers to the series for being much less disdainful of queerness than its predecessor, but the subplot is more a comment about Kids These Days than anything else. It’s clumsy, but watching AJLT’s reach exceed its grasp is also some of the best the show has to offer.
The second subplot concerns Lisa, whose workplace flirtation with a coworker is exactly the kind of thing AJLT is equipped for. Marion is the hot new editor stepping in to work with Lisa on her docu-series and, despite both of them being married, there’s an attraction present. The emotional stakes rise further when Lisa learns of her father’s sudden passing, and Marion is there to comfort her. Nothing comes of this, for now, but this subplot had an unexpected twist coming: Lisa’s dad may have died twice. Back in season one, Lisa comforts Carrie in the wake of Big’s death by describing how she felt after her father passed away. So, how did her father (played by Billy Dee Williams!) somehow die again in the third season? I was kidding about AJLT being written by AI, but could it have really flubbed continuity this hard?
It turns out that, no, the man who passed away in season 1 was Lisa’s stepfather. It might’ve been helpful to have had that clarified in dialogue on the show, and it seems like a mistake a competent writer would avoid, but this is And Just Like That we’re talking about. Maybe it’s tempting to blame AI because the series’ flubs and foibles are just that sloppy. AJLT carries with it the same lack of care, continuity, and depth as AI-generated content, but paradoxically, that lack has led to the most entertaining moments of the whole show. If the series is going to present itself this poorly, and it’s only fun when it falls on its face, maybe it’s better off being written by AI after all.
