Has anyone else found themselves unable to shake the haunting sound of Carrie's desperate scream of "John!" as she races to cradle her dying husband in her arms? I suppose we're all doomed to be haunted now, just as Big would have wanted, immersed in the relentless sorrow that concludes the premiere of 'And Just Like That…'. No, witnessing Brady indulging in loudly risqué sex with his girlfriend doesn't constitute a moment of respite; it's more like a harrowing descent into dystopian territory. Instead, we're immediately plunged back into the depths of despair.
It doesn't take long for Miranda to arrive at Carrie's doorstep – Carrie, still the traditionalist, dials her friend on the landline. Their eyes well up with tears as they cling to each other in shared shock. It's impossible not to recall the 'Sex and the City' episode 'My Motherboard, My Self,' where Miranda's mother succumbs to a heart attack, and Carrie rushes to her side, fearing she might not make it to the altar unsupported. These women are each other's pillars of strength, and Carrie will undoubtedly need this unwavering support in the months ahead. Her first words to Miranda, as they stand there with Big's body being wheeled out, are "What do I do now?" – a question that echoes beyond the immediate tragedy, resonating with the uncertainty of her future life. She had envisioned an entire existence with Big, and in the blink of an eye, it all vanished. Undoubtedly, "What do I do now?" will be the lingering question Carrie strives to answer throughout the season.
Carrie is in a state of understandable shock, her sleep eluding her as she visions of Big haunt her every closed eyelid. The next day, at a funeral home she located online – complete with an enticing promotional video – she stands beside Charlotte, numb and disoriented. She was meant to be basking in happiness in the Hamptons with her husband, but instead, she finds herself in a mortuary room ominously named "The Hampton Room," grappling with how to pay tribute to her deceased spouse. She instantly knows that holding his funeral here would be disrespectful; he would detest it.
While Carrie seems to be void of emotion, Charlotte is overwhelmed by it all. It was inevitable that someone would mention the possibility that had Carrie not gone to Lily's recital, Big might still be alive. Of course, no one could have foreseen his heart attack, but Charlotte is consumed by guilt, fearing that her persuasion to alter Carrie's plans has led to this. She's plagued by self-blame and worries that Carrie harbors immense anger towards her. However, Carrie doesn't. Perhaps she should start considering it, as she's now burdened with managing Charlotte's emotions. As I recently rewatched 'My Motherboard, My Self,' it's fresh in my mind how Charlotte became the group's rock in that episode – the one who knew the perfect gift and the right words for Miranda, comforting Samantha when she unexpectedly broke down. Different deaths impact people diversely, and guilt is undoubtedly a factor here, but seriously, you'd think Charlotte could pull herself together just a tad. Which is precisely what Carrie tells her, gently ushering her into a car and sending her on her way. None of this is conducive to healing.
The show hurls us into Big's funeral without lingering too long in the corridors of time – we're on a ten-episode sprint here, folks; we need to stride forth valiantly, understand? When Carrie confesses her disdain for the funeral parlor, her words aren't empty. Instead, she orchestrates a sophisticated, minimalist tribute for Big, eschewing even the presence of flowers. Yet, as she steps into the room flanked by Stanford and Anthony, her eyes fall upon Big's casket adorned with a breathtaking floral arrangement. One might think she'd snap, tearing them away in frustration, but a card interrupts her contemplation – they're from Samantha. No additional note, just her name, but oh, buddy, the gesture speaks volumes. Later, Carrie dashes off a simple "thank you" to Samantha via text, but to her dismay, silence still greets her from her former friend. If Kim Cattrall doesn't board the sequel train, this narrative could turn into an awkward carousel.
Back to the somber affair: it's a moderate dose of melancholy. Miranda recites a poem penned by Carrie, extolling their fortune in knowing Big and lamenting his loss. It's...adequate? Big's brother rises to deliver a eulogy, but it barely spans two sentences. They're really doing Big a disservice here. Actually, the highlight of the ceremony is when Susan Sharon (an obscure gem!) whispers to her neighbor, "Am I the only one who remembers what an asshole he was to her?" And it's true: Big was often a colossal jerk, yet I can recall his flaws and still get misty-eyed watching the slideshow of his life, set to that Todd Rundgren tune he crooned to Carrie in the final episode. People are a complex tapestry!
Besides Susan Sharon, who forgives Carrie for transgressions she doesn't even recall, another key mourner is Gloria, Big's secretary (a title she prefers, according to Carrie). She spars with Stanford over seat reservations in the front row, then completely unravels during the service, needing comfort from Che. She informs Carrie of numerous papers awaiting her signature, hinting at future appearances. But what's her story?
The funeral may be over, but the blow hasn't diminished. To compound matters, Big's ashes arrive, forcing Carrie to grapple with the reality that her beloved has been reduced to the contents of a small box. Steve sums it up best: "Death sucks." Indeed it does. And martinis with Stanford and Miranda can't diminish its sting. Perhaps a fleeting solace comes when Charlotte interrupts, turning Big's death into another chapter of her drama and sobbing about her guilt in front of Carrie. Carrie finally unleashes her emotions, screaming that she's not mad at Charlotte – she's mad at herself for altering her plans instead of just heading to the Hamptons! The moral here, perhaps, is never to alter plans for the sake of friends.
Yet, even after that cathartic release, Carrie finds herself tossing and turning that night, staring at the box of ashes.
