Half Rude
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Half Rude

Sex And The City Reboot Is The Pain That Keeps On Giving

And Just Like That, we still hate it.

Photo Credit She Lit

This is my second piece on the SATC reboot. Not sure I’ve ever covered the same subject twice, let alone twice in a row. Call it a hit piece. I can’t help it. ‘And Just Like That’ became a form of bullying we are not held accountable for. No one blames us. Every Thursday we expect the new episode to do better, and it’s worse than the previous one. The shit factor is just insurmountable. It’s stronger than all of us; we continue to bully it week in week out.

No, I don’t feel bad about it. Writing is a hard job. TV writing is a harder job. But attempting to revive a cult show of one era to another time that could have benefited hard from pressing a pulse on a much-needed dialogue; it's a complete dissonance with every subject it's trying to tackle. It’s an insult. We feel offended. Enraged. It’s like we need to let out this hatred in series. Overtime. Once is not enough.

I read an article from one of the bottom writers on the show, complaining about the aggressive hate the show is getting. She’s surprised. She says not everyone should love the same things, it's about different tastes, but why such rage? The inability of these writers to understand why are we all enraged, explains it all; if they could understand WHY they would never have written it.

The main problem this show has, in my opinion, is trying to be raw, gritty, edgy, like the shows today are. They are trying to have a somber vibe, after all, somber is serious. Somber is edgy. Except it’s not sexy.

SATC keeps forgetting we watched it because it was sexy. Fun. It was entertaining while tackling serious subjects in a joyous, comedic manner. It was a satire about issues we all experience. It was romantic; even the heartbreaks had a romantic flair about it. The City, the clothes, the romance, the heartbreaks, the sex; all of it was joyful to watch.

There’s no more joy. There is only depression. Sex is not sexy anymore.

Seems like the writer Megan Fox (not that one) has a similar sentiment. She writes for the PJ Media:

“These writers hate this show, the characters, and the fans. They’ve taken everything we loved about the show: the fashion, the joyfulness and fun, the city of New York, the romance — and they’re killing it slowly with the skill of a psychopathic serial killer. We can’t even rip off the bandaid by binging all the episodes at once because they’re making us wait, terrified for what’s coming next week. It’s sadism.”

I also love her:

“Carrie is a dumpy frump with no identity or charm, Miranda is a woke drunk Karen…”

And:

“The rest of the new characters are part of checking that diversity box and not even the woke crowd likes it. Please yell it for those in the back, WHY ARE YOU TREATING MINORITY CHARACTERS LIKE ACCESSORIES? It’s weird, it’s forced, and it’s not necessary.”

I’ll do a quick character drive by:

Carrie was always a snotty, self-centered character for me. I always felt, even in the original series, she’s that type of friend that asks you 1–2 quick questions about your life, so she can legitimately skip you to start talking about herself. Her 10 minute feign at Miranda’s kitchen finger-bang was more insufferable than the act itself. Obviously writers are leading Carrie towards a hot older greyish hair producer at the radio station. Please give her some pep!

Miranda, the best character in the universe became quite literally “woke drunk Karen”. The murder the writers did on her is unwatchable.

Charlotte. I waited for decades to get revenge on Charlotte. When I was 24 I dated this Jewish guy in Manhattan that was everything I ever wanted. We went for dinners and played basketball in Rebook Club with Taye Diggs, we went to clubs and walk the streets, he would stop to make a phone call at the payphone and I would go to CVS on the corner to buy a disposable camera so I can take pictures of him while he was on the phone. He wasn’t annoyed by it as most boys would be; he would turn my way and smile at me so I get a good picture.

I still have the screenshots of those pictures in a folder on my phone.

He was the first guy I ever thought — I would marry you tomorrow morning if you ask. He was my — one of those guys you never forget, and when your friends give you flack about why marriage isn’t appealing to you, I tell them, it's not, but it was with him. He’s why I love Manhattan, this lifestyle, this grime, these NY extremes, Jerry Seinfeld, Larry David, walking these streets for hours a day; he’s why this place is the only place that ever felt home.

Everything was so dazzling with him, me staying over at his place on school nights and optimistically thinking I can leave Columbus Circle 15 minutes before I need to be in the class on 26th & 6th. He was the one that invented the phrase: “Miranda Time”. There is a regular, actual flow of time, and then there’s unrealistic Miranda Time, where I’m deadly convinced I can be anywhere in New York in 15 minutes.

It’s a small island, Grant; I can be absolutely anywhere in 15 min! You just don’t understand Miranda Time, even though you invented it.

Usually, I’m very aloof in relationships, which the other side finds intense, for some reason, but this one made me all the shades in the book. I worried, I cared, I wondered, I was bothered we aren’t anymore. I still don’t know what the reason for the break-up was; we were way too young, I wasn’t Jewish: I just remember I have no bad feelings or memories even about the ending.

I asked him once who his type was, a celebrity, expecting I will get an answer like Angelina or Cindy, or Christy or Charlize, but he said in his soothing tone of voice: “Charlotte York”.

Charlotte’s face was always a trigger for me, and seeing her face now, I do feel strangely victorious. While Sarah Jessica Parker gets daily flack for her untouched face, naturally growing old and not wiping her wrinkles away or doing fillers; I love her for it, and for the first time I see on screen how much that route looks better than Charlotte’s over-filled face.

The scene where she’s about blow Harry in the bathroom, the camera zooming in on her, doing Charlotte’s usual face gimmicks that maybe worked for a quirky 35 year-old; today, in the bathroom, it was painful to watch all that filler and botox struggling to move alongside her.

Revenge, at last, G!

Che Diaz. I’m aware of all the online hate for this character, even being called the worst character on TV, but I have to tell you Che is the only reason why I’m still watching the show! Well, I stand corrected, Sara Ramirez is the reason I’m still watching the show. I’m not going to go into the storyline, but this character is the only one looking comfortable in her own skin. Or again, is that just Sara being completely comfortable in her own skin? Everyone else is just stumbling and mumbling through shitty plotlines.

I find Che/Sara sexy as hell, to be honest. I looked at her in the last few episodes like I look at the hot guys I watch in the TV shows. With a bit of a tingle. The storyline is dumb but every time she approaches Miranda, I get a tingle. It keeps me going. (Sara if you’re reading this, call me).

And finally, aging plotlines seem to be the main thing everyone finds the most offensive. These women are acting like out of touch 80 year-olds, and not women in their 50’s! In today’s society, 50’s can be a peak of your accomplishments, stability, security, being content with who you are, and if you take care of yourself mentally and physically, it can be your best life yet. Instead of showing that, or at least some comic approach to changes that come with aging, the writers decided to be a depressing reminder of why most women fear aging.

It plays into every single stereotype there is about middle-aged women.

Men too, Steve in his 55 should be at the peak of his mature manhood and foxy grey sexiness, hearing aid or not. Instead, every scene with him feels like a visit to an old people’s home. Steve deserves so much better!

Miranda, there is so much wrong with that character, I have no energy to unpack it. Miranda ran into Stephen Strange on 177 Bleecker St. and is in Multiverse.

Guys, I have no ending.

This is just ongoing hate for this series that has no end, it swims back to the surface every Thursday.

We are watching Sex that is not sexy, with sex scenes that are so terribly written, shot, and acted, it's almost grotesque. Che and Miranda, Steve and Miranda, Big’s masturbation scene — it’s painful.

Just PAIN that keeps on giving.

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Miranda Vidak

Miranda Vidak

Making sense of the world, one article at a time. Connoisseur of human folly. Mostly my own. Elsewhere / mirandavidak.com