MEGHAN MCCAIN: I got lured into watching ‘And Just Like That.’ It was vulgar, woke slop

And just like that… I can’t look at this lazy, awake slob for another second.

No doubt Sarah Jessica Parker and the producers of the shoddy “Sex And The City” reboot were fully aware of the howls of disappointment from superfans, like me, who resented what they did to a cherished franchise in season one.

The knockoff lacked everything that made the original series great; sharp dialogues, compelling characters and plots that broach taboo subjects that mainstream American entertainment would never have dared to tackle.

The new show was all about labels; trans, cis, white, black.

So when HBO Max dangled news of the surprise return of Kim Cattrall’s iconic Samantha, I was shocked.

Samantha wasn’t in the first season of the sequel, but if Cattrall’s sassy, ​​offensive, authentic character came back, so was I. She will not accept this progressive nonsense.

I couldn’t wait.

Now, I wish I had it.

The creatives behind this series have learned nothing.

More likely, they’ll be perfectly content milking this brand for all it’s worth and destroy it in the process. But what’s really worse is that they humiliate the marginalized groups they claim to represent.

The first episode, predictably, focuses on Carrie Bradshaw in the final stages of mourning her late husband, Mr. Big, who fell into the pack after the stage last season.

Charlotte (Kristin Davis) doesn’t really do anything but be anxious. And Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is in Los Angeles with her non-binary partner Che Diaz, a stand-up comedian filming a sitcom.

The other characters, who joined the cast last season, are realtor Seema (Sarita Choudhury), professor Nya (Karen Pittman) and wealthy filmmaker/socialite Lisa (Nicole Ari Parker).

They each get their own fringe plot developments. Nya wants to cheat on her estranged husband. Lisa tries to raise money for her documentary. Seema dates a con artist and gets into a fight with her hairdresser.

Episode One opens with a montage of all but one of the characters (lonely Nya) caught up in passion.

The soundtrack to their furious lovemaking: a Britney Spears/Elton John collab remix of ‘Hold Me Closer’.

Carrie is under the covers with her podcast producer in the bedroom. Charlotte nestles against her husband Harry. Seema and Lisa are shown in more compromising positions.

But Miranda and Che are completely naked, breasts out, writhing in a hot tub, in the middle of the day in Los Angeles.

That’s all within the first few minutes. And if you think that’s a lot, wait and see.

As usual, the story revolves around the main characters. The only new addition that gets a lot of attention is Che. And she (Che uses plural pronouns) has been reduced to nothing more than a stereotype.

In season one, Che was portrayed as a hyper-aggressive queer, non-binary person.

Here in season two, in an obvious nod to how ridiculous that looked, Che gets annoyed with the wardrobe department of their new TV show, trying to dress them in a cheap, flashy blazer.

“Hello America, I’m non-binary!” Che jokes, recognizing the caricature.

But then they come back right away.

Of course, Che and Miranda can’t have normal sex. It has to be super kinky.

Che lies in bed, hands overhead, gripping a wrought-iron headboard, while Miranda awkwardly tries on a black leather harness for a strap-on and fiddles with a variety of fake penises.

It would be nice if the producers let actor Sara Ramirez explore Che’s character and explain why Miranda moved across the country, leaving behind her husband, Steve, and son, Brady.

But no, it’s all leather and studs for you two.

In the second episode, Miranda’s head is buried between Che’s legs, while Che takes a call.

Why so graphic?

In the post-Girls/Euphoria/The Idol era, this doesn’t sound groundbreaking.

It’s just cheap. It’s offensive.

Is Che and Miranda’s relationship only defined by sex? It’s an ugly stereotype.

This season, like the last one, feels like a soulless exercise in checking off a waking checklist.

A disabled character – get it.

An executive at Carrie’s podcast company is a pregnant woman in a wheelchair.

Trans teen – ready and dusted.

Charlotte’s daughter Rose announced last season that she wanted to be called Rock.

White supremacy – yes, sir!

Lisa’s husband, a super-successful businessman, who wears a power suit, cannot hail a cab in Manhattan’s Upper East Side because he is black and cab drivers are intolerant.

What? That’s completely unbelievable, but who cares. It gives the show a chance to ring that bell.

‘And Just Like That’ is clearly a vehicle for ‘Sex And The City’ to atone for its past ‘sins’.

Samantha once poured a bucket of water on transgender prostitutes, who curiously walked the streets outside her bedroom window to keep her awake at night.

What show wouldn’t look very dated after 20 years?

The bottom line is that ‘Sex And The City’ led American culture. ‘And Just Like That’ desperately plays catch-up with a world that has passed it by.

It’s nothing more than a 50-year-old progressive white woman’s panic attack – a “Woke for Dummies” guide.

If anyone can come to the rescue, it’s Samantha.

Unfortunately, Cattrall reportedly only makes a small cameo, which was downplayed by Nixon as “a very small wave to the fans.”

Well, I hope the actors and producers are all enjoying their paychecks, someone should get some fun out of this experience.

But the loyal audience deserves something better than this echo of the original.