This article contains spoilers for the first two episodes of And Just Like That …

Awaiting the Sex and the City sequel And Just Like That … (Binge, Foxtel on Demand) felt a bit like approaching a school reunion. There was an odd mixture of curiosity, anticipation and trepidation about reconnecting with once-familiar faces. How would the passing of more than a decade affect Carrie and co, the gal pals so intimately entwined with their turn-of-the-century times? And because this is SATC territory, what would they be wearing? (In Carrie’s case, it turned out to be weird hats.)

For six seasons, between 1998 and 2004, fashion-forward writer Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and her friends – publicist Samantha (Kim Cattrall), lawyer Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and art dealer Charlotte (Kristin Davis) – skittered around a glittering, aspirational Manhattan made up of chic eateries, plush bars, groovy clubs and enviable apartments. They wore eye-catching clothes and very high heels as they gossiped about their love lives, their sex lives and their jobs over cocktails and cupcakes. Whatever else it was, Sex and the City was a show about female friendship. (And, yes, I’d prefer to erase all memory of the lamentable movies that followed the TV series.)

For fans of the show, occasional drop-ins and even those who hate-watched it in order to gripe about its superficiality and blinkered worldview, the highly hyped 10-part sequel raised questions. How would it deal with the significant absence of caustic libertarian Samantha following Cattrall’s refusal to participate in the production? How would women whose social and sex lives in their 30s were the substance of the series work as subjects in their 50s, when they’re settled into married life and two of them have children? And how would a show built on a quartet of white, cis-gender heterosexuals play in an era where such a show wouldn’t even be commissioned without substantial alterations?

A few answers came to light in the double-episode opener. Creator, writer and director Michael Patrick King, a guiding force for the original series, delivered a mixed bag, with some things handled well and some clumsily, although he did manage to spring one series-shaking shock. The absence of Samantha was sensibly addressed early and reflected the well-publicised real-life rift: there’d been a falling-out with Carrie, initially professional and then personal, after which Samantha decamped to London and shunned contact. Interestingly, as in the days when actors exited Neighbours and their characters ostensibly moved to Queensland, Samantha wasn’t killed off, leaving the door open for a return. Given that she was a cancer survivor, a more decisive explanation would’ve been possible and wouldn’t even have required some lame line about her tragically being hit by a bus as she crossed Fifth Avenue.

There was also a nice postscript with Samantha’s true-to-form disregarding of the no-flowers request at the funeral of Big (Chris Noth, and yes, his character’s death was the shock). Touched by the gesture, Carrie allowed the over-the-top floral display to drape the coffin in the minimalist white funeral home. It seemed entirely appropriate as this is a Sex and the City sibling, so style matters and subtlety is not a priority.

Filling the gap left by Samantha and addressing the show’s lack of diversity was a trio of new characters, all women of colour. Charlotte’s school-mum pal, Lisa Todd Wexley, “LTW” (Nicole Ari Parker), breezed into a restaurant where the women were dining like a couture-clad throwback to SATC. A clunky case of overkill had Charlotte set up her arrival with the summary that she was “a documentarian and humanitarian and her husband, Herbert, is an investment banker who might run for mayor, and she’s on the International Vogue Best Dressed list”. Whoa, quintuple whammy.
And if these credentials weren’t sufficient for her to gain entry to the elite clique, she swung by their table and expressed her affection for fries, while wearing a bracelet – by an obscure, up-and-coming indie designer from Mississippi – that caught Carrie’s admiring eagle eye. Later she gratefully accepted a plastic cup of the wine that Miranda smuggled into a music-school recital. Welcome to the gang, LTW.

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