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Please stop the ‘Sex and the City’ reboot
“So what are we going to do?” Carrie Bradshaw once asked in an episode of “Sex and the City.” “Sit around bars, sipping Cosmos and sleeping with strangers when we’re 80?”
We are perilously close to knowing the answer to that question.
As part of HBO Max’s egomaniacal campaign for streaming dominance, the service just announced that the comedy series, which ran from 1998 to 2004, will return for 10 new episodes this year.
Kim Cattrall, who played Samantha and provided most of the show’s jokes and sex, won’t be back. And so we’re left with three embittered, high-strung wives, two of whom have kids: Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker, 55), Miranda (wannabe-governor Cynthia Nixon, 54) and Charlotte (Kristin Davis, 55).
Why must “Sex and the City,” one of the most famous depictions of New York life ever filmed, continue to debase itself by refusing to acknowledge that this relationship is over?
It was bad enough that much of Season 6 was shot in Paris. Then, executive producer Michael Patrick King had to go and release two heinous movies, in 2008 and 2010, that turned a quartet of intelligent free-thinkers into nymphomaniac cartoons.
In the first big-screen debacle, Mr. Big gets cold feet on his and Carrie’s wedding day and leaves her embarrassed and screaming outside the New York Public Library. She cries for most of the film, flies to Mexico and then hires Jennifer Hudson as an assistant. It was “Sex and the Whiny.”
Yet that was “The Godfather” next to “Sex and the City 2.” An assault on good taste, the movie begins with a spastic Liza Minnelli performing “Single Ladies” at a gay wedding. The four friends, spurned by no-good men, jet to Abu Dhabi and later get arrested for lewd behavior. They sneak out of the Muslim country wearing niqabs, burka-like garments that only reveal a woman’s eyes. The film was denounced as racist, stupid and, worst of all, 2 1/2 hours long.
King and Parker must’ve mistaken the shouts of “snore!” for “more!”
Because that’s what we’re getting — more ludicrous episodes of a once-great show that’s completely detached from the New York of today, or of 2015 for that matter.
Theirs is an NYC where SushiSamba is still open and putting gold leaf on sashimi. Where the Upper East Side is considered the dream neighborhood for a single 35-year-old fashionista and her collection of designer high heels. Where the streets are paved in cupcakes, Instagram influencers don’t exist and a picture of a tutu-clad sex columnist (for, gasp, a newspaper!) is slapped on a bus.
And what about the pandemic? Will Carrie order Pastis to-go while Miranda has Zoom meetings? Spare us the thought.
Shows such as “Search Party” and “The Bold Type” capture the city and its annoying young strivers better than “Sex and the City” does now.
That’s not a dig. Reviving other New York-set TV series like “Seinfeld” and “The Odd Couple” would be a bad idea, too. Those are still enjoyed today because they embodied a specific time and place that we like to remember. “Sex and the City” was a groundbreaking show with layered characters and lively humor — and a vital post-9/11 billboard for New York.
We had a good run, Carrie, but I’m just not that into you anymore.