So Sex and the City has gone out with, not a bang, but a whimper. Granted, it could have been worse. It could have been schmaltzier. Or off the deep end like Seinfeld’s finale. But in playing it safe, the writers played it a little too safe. I was struck thinking back to the replayed clips of the one-hour runup and how much funnier they were than anything in the final episode. I think the Globe’s review gets it right:
Yes, Carrie’s choices — between Alek and Big, between Paris and New York, between being the person she thought she needed to be and the person she was — all needed to be resolved. But beyond that, all we really needed was another half an hour at the table with the girls.
Meanwhile, I’ll just add that the pre-finale special was one of the most closeted hours of television I’ve seen. There was a brief mention of Stanford’s character, but otherwise any notion that gay sensibility and subculture had anything to do with the show was evacuated.
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