\n<\/p>\n
While star Sarah Jessica Parker<\/strong> and showrunner Michael Patrick King<\/strong> have suggested that the And Just Like That<\/em> finale<\/a> isn\u2019t necessarily<\/em> the end of the Carrie Bradshaw saga, it is the end for now. What began 27 years ago with the premiere of Sex and the City<\/em> concluded on Thursday night, sending Carrie swanning around her elegant mansion and singing a love song to herself. It was a typically SATC<\/em>-ian episode ending\u2014wistful and happy at once, summative yet ambiguous about what might happen right after the picture fades. Maybe we\u2019ll find out what shape Carrie\u2019s life takes in her 60s; maybe we won\u2019t. For now, King chose to leave her dancing in our minds.<\/p>\n Which is nice! But that final scene was awfully discordant with what else happened in the finale episode, a strange and erratic half-ish hour that involved noxious queer Zillennial stereotypes and a celebrated actor staring at a toilet bowl full of human excrement. That wackiness was in keeping with much of And Just Like That<\/em>\u2019s tone; for three seasons, the show favored bawdy and broad comedy over the barbed wordplay and romantic yearning that defined Sex and the City<\/em>. (Which could also be plenty silly.) Yet I held out hope that perhaps, just for the last episode, And Just Like That<\/em> would get a bit more pensive and focused\u2014that it would gather its characters and plot lines together into something poignant and meaningful.<\/p>\n The show didn\u2019t really do that, which was disappointing. But I\u2019ve had some time to sleep on it, and to think about watching TV, and about endings. And I\u2019ve come to see King and Parker\u2019s side of things: that not repeating the wistful glow of the SATC<\/em> finale\u2014at least not entirely\u2014was maybe the right way to go. It seems important that And Just Like That<\/em> remind us of the messy ramble of Carrie and her friends, their ongoing and ever-evolving existences nattering away long after their lives onscreen are supposed to be settled\u2014fixed things gliding off in perfect harmony, far past the end credits.<\/p>\n So, yes: bring on the poop. Was it perhaps a bit undignified to force poor Victor Garber<\/strong> to film that scene? Maybe! But maybe he also had fun. And maybe it was equally amusing for Mario Cantone<\/strong> to get pied in the face by hunky Gieuseppe, and for Kristin Davis<\/strong> to close things out with one last romp in the hay with a newly tumescent Harry. It would have been lovely to have the girls together one last time, but that is not always how life works, especially as we age and routines spin off on varying trajectories.<\/p>\n From a TV-watching perspective, it\u2019s also a welcome jolt to be challenged in our expectation of what a finale should be. Obviously plenty of shows have done that before\u2014we\u2019ve had snow globe reveals<\/a>, big time jumps<\/a>, a prison sentence<\/a>, a sudden cut to black<\/a>. And Just Like That<\/em>, in its weird way, joins that tradition. And the oddness of its finale, its refusal to really resolve things in the most easily audience-satisfying way, echoes the most stirring and fascinating sentiment of its last season.<\/p>\n