RIP AJLT: How Much Was Our Internalized Ageism To Blame?
I have thoughts. At least, we'll always have the Barry White needle-drop. And Epcot.
Well, folks, I saw the series finale of AJLT earlier this week (screeners). The show that launched a thousand hot-takes has, sadly, gone sheepishly into this good night.
Photo: Courtesy of Max
Having committed to all iterations of this franchise for better or worse, it saddened me that the overall vibe of the series finale was weary, as if it were lugging itself through the 33 minutes it took up. There was no epic reckoning, no show-stopping mic drop, but rather a series of tiny reckonings about making peace with your lot in life, blended seamlessly onto a backdrop of luxe meh.
Whatever you thought about the quality of the show, it's been unabashed in its depictions of being in your 50s—the first season was a little overkill. As someone who resides within the confines of that demographic check box, even I struggled with how it initially tried too hard to root Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte into their 50s with plot devices and conversations like, “HOW ABOUT THOSE HOT FLASHES?”
Instantly offing Big was a nose-dive into this transition, and younger fans complained the newfound levity was drained of whimsy and sex (Miranda and Seema gave us plenty of both, but I think the real complaint was that Carrie, in struggling to imagine and inhabit a life without Big, seemed drained of whimsy and sex.) But the more I consider how this show was something of a cultural Sisyphus, the more I understand what the writers were up against.
Tragically, it’s something of a miracle we got to watch it at all. Without marquee talent and a devout audience ready and willing to ride the coattails of nostalgia, showrunner Michael Patrick King told the New York Times a show like "AJLT" would be an impossible sell: “I don’t think that anybody would take on new women characters at 55 without proof that people will watch." This truth simultaneously pisses me off and bums me out. There isn't exactly a glut of content out there featuring 50-something women unless they're Real Housewives, matriarchs, or are relegated to the periphery (like the scene-stealing Sylvie on "Emily in Paris"). This erasure reflects how Gen Xers in entertainment are being forced to pivot, as well.
So, did viewers react so strongly because the writing and plotlines didn't hit or because the women weren't who they were 20 years ago (which, quite frankly, no one ever is!)? Did they find the sometimes ugly complexities of going back to work after raising children (Charlotte), feeling lost in reinvention (Miranda), dating after widowhood (Carrie), or getting phased out of your job (Seema), and the men in your life using Minoxodil (Aidan) or having prostate cancer (Harry) too unglamourous to digest? Were they expecting the girls to age with sheer comic wackiness a la Patsy Stone or with a more bonded, old-lady irreverence like The Golden Girls?
Before I dig into my thesis, let’s recap how AJLT floated off our screens. TO AVOID SPOILERS, SKIP TO THE ALL CAPS BIT BELOW:
We open with Carrie getting a table for one at Haidilao Huoguo, a somewhat automated Chinese restaurant. She is visibly shook when the server brings Tommy Tomato, a sizeable stuffy, to sit across from her so she isn’t alone. Tiny reckoning number one.
LTW and Marion are confronted with their sexual tension when they hug and bond over potentially scoring Michelle Obama to narrate her long-labored documentary series. “We have to reel whatever this is back in,” she says. “I know enough not to be whatever this is in our movie. It would ruin everything for both of us. We’ll work it out,” he says. Tiny reckoning number two.
Miranda and Steve choose Mexican food for their parenting conflab, bonding over how Brady’s baby mama, Mia (Ella Stiller), said Miranda, “violated her aura.” Neither can believe they have to reckon with grandparenting. “I’ve been putting condoms in his stocking since he was 14!” Miranda exclaims. They both resolve to be as involved in the kid’s life, one way or another. Tiny reckoning number three.
In the only scene where the girlfriends gather (more on how this lack of bonding didn’t help the show later), they attend a bridal fashion show at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden and pair off according to marital status to discuss the institution. Resident singles Seema and Carrie question their motivations around marriage: Carrie said it made her feel “chosen.” Seema loves Adam, but who cares if he chooses her because it’s not his responsibility. Tiny reckoning number three. Smug marrieds Charlotte and LTW talk about long-time married tough stuff. “It’s about cancer,” Charlotte says. “Don’t forget cancer.” LTW gets existential: “If you knew what you know now, the way it really is, would you still get married?” Naturally, Charlotte says, “Absolutely.” Tiny reckonings four and five. On the walk back, Carrie admits to Charlotte that she has to accept the fact that she might end up alone. “You are fabulous!” Charlotte says, meaning well in a vapid show of support. Samantha’s “single, and fabulous” affirmation all those years ago sounded a lot more reassuring.
Back at the Gramercy manse, Carrie broaches the topic of Seema with Adam, who is outside digging up her lawn because Thanksgiving is “just another Thursday.” Carrie asks Adam if Seema is “just another Thursday,” to which he replies, “She’s a lifetime.” Carrie wants her garden to be wild and free, like her. We tie that sitch up with a bow. Six!
After his bout with prostate cancer, Charlotte and Harry get their happy ending in the form of Harry’s “happy ending.” The sight of Charlotte basting a Thanksgiving turkey caused Harry to utter a line no woman should ever hear again: “I’m crisp and ready to baste, baby!” They prance off to “give thanks,” and wham bam thanks-no-thanks ma’am. Seven!
Then came the Thanksgiving at Miranda’s that no one attended, including Miranda. Carrie shows up after delivering Jackie Hoffman’s pies to the bailers. Miranda opts to leave Carrie and Brady, who is cooking a feast, to join her girlfriend Joy and injured dog Sappho at the vet. “Should we get the FCK out, too?” Brady asks Carrie. The answer is yes. But they don’t.
Now comes the clumsy generational gap exploration. Mia shows up with a Gen Z entourage named Epcot (his parents were “Disney freaks”) and Silvio, who slandered Brady for being a ginger and, unprovoked, starts Vogueing all over Miranda’s new digs. Of course, they are vegan and urgently need seaweed, which chef Brady must go out and get. Carrie struggles to connect with the kinder when Mark Kasabian (Victor Garber), the gallerist Charlotte “forgot to uninvite,” appears, a sloppy Charlotte fix-up. Carrie being Carrie FCKS up the turkey, so Thanksgiving is cheese and seaweed. Brady and his Baby Mama start to bicker. Baby Mama sticks up for Miranda. Tiny reckoning number seven.
Here’s where things get surreal: Epcot excuses herself to shit her brains out. Everyone leaves but Mark, who goes to take a piss and, upon flushing, Epcot’s epic lactose-intolerant remains make a violent resurgence and flood Miranda’s new digs. ED NOTE: I don’t know how the set folks accurately and graphically depicted this human nightmare, but trust me, they did. Mark declares, “I don’t have a problem with French cheese!” to absolve himself and exits stage left. Miranda cleans, bemoaning her life. “I didn’t have a care in the world six months ago, and now look at me!” Carrie, as only Carrie can, leaves us with a timely pun: “Shit happens.” Joy shows up. She and Miranda are good. Carrie sees herself out. End scene.
Carrie, aka “The Woman,” goes home alone. Duncan is long gone, so her pricey stilettos stay on. Sidenote: The soundtrack of her final bow, Barry White’s “You're My First, My Last, My Everything,” has been a personal favorite of mine since my 20s. Cut to Anthony and Giuseppe having a conversation about Giuseppe wanting a partner like his mother. Giuseppe throws a pie in Anthony’s face. They kiss, and that’s over. Tiny reckoning number 556.
At Charlotte’s, Rock asks to see a photo of her dressed as Millie, not freaked out in the least that a femme photo of her exists. Plotline resolved. Herbert cleans for LTW, Seema meets Adam’s hippie friends, as Carrie twirls alone in her kitchen and sings along with Barry’s dulcet tones. She retypes The Woman’s epilogue as she wasn’t alone; she was on her own. Bada bing, that’s the end.
See what I mean? A whimper. IF AVOIDING SPOILERS, NOW YOU CAN READ.
Even so, AJLT will go down as the show that spawned 1001 hot takes—some reverent, many critical. In examining the root of the divisiveness over all of the love/hate, The Hollywood Reporter came up with: "To witness in real time the writers stray so far from the stories that set us up for adult life can feel like a kind of betrayal."
But whose "adult life" was that THR writer talking about, exactly? You can't get any more adult than 50, so is the real issue that the "adult life" the writer was expecting wasn't glamorous enough, even if served upon a satin cushion of aspirational wealth?
Microaggressive ageist comments, like those made in that Hollywood Reporter piece, spread across the Interwebs like a California wildfire during the Santa Anas. Some sneaky gems like this one, found on a Reddit thread calling out ageism against the show, were easy to grasp: “How is single ladies being deliriously happy depressing??????? Chasing men over 50? THAT'S depressing!” Others argued the show itself was ageist while making ageist comments about it, naming the devolution of Miranda from uptight corporate attorney to a bumbling newbie lesbian as a valid reason to hate: “For real. As someone in my 40s, if this is what aging looks like, I might just go buy a Peloton and end it. 😂”
Wow. Really? I have news: Being over 50 doesn’t even remotely guarantee you’ll have your shit together. It can be an era of immense transition and reinvention as tumultuous as your 20s: People lose parents, raise whole adults, get sick, die, divorce, come out, empty nest, and very, very often are forced to change careers. Those events can change a person’s inner workings and outer vibes profoundly. In a prior post, I wrote about how Gen X writers rarely get to write about Gen X culture, and these weird expressions of internalised ageism are what happens due to and because of that.
The truth about being over 50 is, no matter how much Botox you pump into your face or gooch, it's not the new 30, and expecting Miranda, Carrie, and Charlotte to be just as they were 20 years ago would also be a grave mistake.
Some thoughts:
Viewers struggled to connect with how much the characters had changed. Though my friends and I have changed and evolved in myriad ways, the things that inspire us, drive us, and make us feel vulnerable are still the same things we’ve carried with us all along. We needed something more than a love of writing and a sustained shoe fetish to keep us tethered to the old Carrie—even if it wasn’t getting wasted and sleeping with some rando 30-something.
Some critics, unable to comment authentically on the 50s experience, went with how wealth was part of the problem. In overcommitting to aspiration through fashion and aesthetics, a pervasive tone-deaf affluence rubbed viewers the wrong way. I get it, but also bullshit. The show was always aspirational—it’s just now 50s-in-the-’20s Mega Millions aspirational, not the ‘we ate at Florent in fishnet,’ aspirational of the 30s-in-the-New-York-90s. I couldn’t afford Manolos then, and I can’t afford a Gramercy Park Townhouse now.
Once upon a time, New York City was the 5th girlfriend. The series finale did feature the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, but, for the most part, she was used like a muted backdrop at Sears Portrait Studios.
When Seema was let go by Ryan Serhant, it presented a ripe opportunity to explore how Gen X women are often prematurely aged out of the workplace and are forced to start over. A throwaway line about having to take the subway in heels wasn’t realistic or enough of a struggle for viewers to relate to or chew on.
Though the writing held moments of irreverence and humor, it lacked congruence, consistency (the plot holes were gaping—recappers had a field day with Lisa’s dad dying twice!), and cohesiveness.
The poorly-timed Lupone of it all aside, writing in a zillion cameos keeps us from deepening connections with the main characters.
Once the writers decided to sever ties between Carrie and Aidan, it seemed as if they had no other idea what to do with her.
Most importantly, the show became too focused on romantic relationships and lacked a focus on friendship, which was what viewers really wanted to see. I hate this little factoid and fight against it tooth and nail, but it’s true: Women in their 50s tend to spend less time with their friends than they do in their 30s, despite the sad fact that we need our IRL friends more than ever. Carrie and Miranda failing at living together was a failed opportunity to rekindle a friendship-driven narrative. I thought they were all each other’s soulmates? Why couldn’t anyone hearken back to that?
The New York Times just ran an eval/obit of the show from Jennifer Weiner, who argues the women were “punished” for dealing with the heavier things that really do happen in your 50s and admits that yes, she wanted The Golden Girls: “Less couture, more caftans; less Gramercy Park townhouses, more Miami ranch houses, but all the joy and laughs that “And Just Like That…” didn’t deliver.”
Here’s why: You can’t have a show about a group of friends without focusing on the friendships themselves.
Given the pervasive FCKRY in today’s climate, I can only hope the cancelling of this show doesn’t deter the greenlighting of another show like it because, in a way, it did deliver. It got made. We all watched it, didn’t we? We’re all talking about it, aren’t we? Regardless of how you may feel about AJLT, it managed to depict some of the real struggles and scenarios women face in their 50s. In today’s youth-obsessed America, where 50-year-old critics don’t even get to write about 50-year-old problems, that feat in and of itself is worthy of a raised cosmo.
Chin chin!
xx
MF
There is so much room for a GOOOOOD story of over 50. This was sad. At least at end, Carey (supposedly) got to feel "enlightened" and not bedraggled. BUT THERE WAS NO FUN. Have you seen Canada's HILARIOUS Small Achievable Goals. Now, it's all skits. But there is room for real, for friendship, and lots of laughs for 50 and way over. The audience is here!
I was a SATC fan but couldn’t find my way into AJLT. The women felt inaccessible to me and while, in my 30’s, I absolutely knew a Carrie, a Miranda, and so on, I just don’t know those AJLT women anymore. They’re not in my socioeconomic range and they are certainly not the chicks I meet on East Village playgrounds, working moms juggling a fuck ton of shit. But I am so interested in what you’re saying about internalized ageism and a world in which a crew of 50-something women doing woman things might live. My film Ramona at Midlife is my answer to all of this. And we made it on a shoestring budget with friends, putting it into the world on our own, because as you so accurately report, NO ONE is actively looking for this content. We have to make it ourselves, champion it ourselves and in many cases distribute it ourselves. At least AJLT (alongside some other gems like Somebody Somewhere, Hacks, and my personal fave The Diplomat) proved that it can be profitable and a centerpiece conversation!