My Celebrity Life

Why am I so affected by toxic Big’s death in And Just Like That?

I still can’t stop thinking about it: Big slumped in the shower, holding his left arm, as Carrie Bradshaw comes screeching in, getting her satin Manolo Blahniks soaked and doing everything else but call 911.

‘And just like that, Big died.’

And just like that, I was a sobbing mess of a human, tears streaming down my face as I hyperventilated my words.

Carrie’s Big, an underlying theme of the whole fricken franchise, was gone. How will she go on? How will *I* go on?

But later that day I got to thinking, why do I care so much? Deep down I was Team Aidan anyway.

I can’t believe after everything Big put us, sorry, Carrie through in the series and first film, from breaking up with her more times than I can count, just deciding to move to Paris without telling her before moving back on the sly and getting engaged to someone else, to the small issue of leaving her at the altar, I’m still mourning Big. Hard.

But I am. There is no two ways about it, it’s going to take me a while to get over his death, even if Susan Sharon put it correctly when she murmured at Big’s funeral: ‘Am I the only one that remembers what a prick he was to her?’

No, you’re not, Susan Sharon, but some of us like to live in a fantasyland where ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love exists.

His death wasn’t just about, like, his death to me (Picture: HBO Max)

I wasn’t alone in my feelings as so many of us tuned into the first instalment of the Sex And The City spin-off And Just Like That… last week, which saw Chris Noth’s Big snuffed out in the final moments after suffering a heart attack after a particularly rigorous Peloton session.

Some were saying good riddance, others were shouting at the screen for Carrie to pick up the damn phone and call 911 (there was definitely time to save him, I don’t care what anyone says) and others, like me, couldn’t muster up any words to cut through the wailing at all.

Perhaps it was the sudden circumstances around his death that got to me most as Big was ripped from Carrie right when things had finally hit perfection for the historically-problematic couple.

It’s less the loss of the man himself I’m so sad about and more the fact we’re seeing Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie left picking up her shattered heart. AGAIN.

The return of Carrie, Miranda Hobbes and Charlotte York brought with it the warm feeling of nostalgia so many of these reboots and reunions have garnered. It might remind us of a lovelier time in our lives, or how far we’ve come from a moment when we related all too well to the flops and heartbreaking fails these women faced in the OG series.

While we now recognise the problematic elements of the show, on so many levels, for many who love the SATC franchise, we felt the journey showcased by these flawed but human characters. Everything but that shoe collection. Not relatable at all.

We’ve been INVESTED, man (Picture: HBO)

There was *something* we could see in those characters that mirrored an element of our own lives and, frankly, I think we were all expecting this reunion to be a fluffy walk down memory Fifth Avenue.

Not a fricken final gasp in the shower.

We’ve rooted for Carrie’s happy ending for six seasons and two movies and, sure, there’s been a good decade since she got hitched to Big and lived in fictional matrimonial heaven away from our screens, but it feels like we never got to witness them just be, you know?

Despite it being hinted at in the past, Big’s death was still a punch in the heart (sorry, too soon?) to those of us hoping that Carrie finally – FINALLY – got her happy ending.

Instead, we watched her chase this fella around New York for 10 years only to see him cark it after a spin class, and I don’t see us not talking about this for a long time to come.

Because, forget Carrie, didn’t the showrunners think about what WE’VE invested in this story?

We’ve gone through way too much, and are still going through way too much with all this *gestures generally* to not be handed a gorgeously soothing series to massage our weary sensibilities.

I get it, we needed something, ahem, big (that joke hasn’t been used to death has it?), to get us invested in the reboot and because of that, I’ll devour everything Michael Patrick King throws at me over the next few episodes.

Ah, who am I kidding anyway? No one ever really goes away in this show, do they? If Susan Sharon is still hanging around…

Do I hazard a guess Big’s foreboding spirit will permeate the rest of the series like he was still alive and spinning, and, I imagine, unfortunately offer up a reason for me to stop being so upset by his premature demise, as Carrie and her heels trot off into the Manhattan sunset finally at peace?

Abso-f***ing-lutely.

 


Credit: Original article published here.

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