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The luminous Sarita Choudhury walks into a hair salon and makes a beeline toward her character Seemas stylist.
A silk leopard-print scarf frames her sunglasses-clad face.
A Fendi First Medium bag is slung over her shoulder.
Are you ready to be blown?
her stylist asks with amusement, crudely foreshadowing the cut-rate romantic narrative drama thats about to unfold.
Listen to your standards, he tells her.
Youve sat in my chair for ten years with your red flags and standards.
No wonder youre still alone!
Music and conversation cuts to a hush.
It is surely only thanks to Choudhurys skill and rich presence that this line evensomewhatworks.
But as she stalks off, whatever sparkling wit Choudhury imbues into Seemas delivery grows leaden.
It starts and ends with the laborious humor that misunderstands what madeSex and the Cityso enthralling.
Consider Seemas line again: I pay you to blow me, not shrink me.
I will wear whatever and blow whomever I want as long as I can breathe and kneel!
Its a superficial evolution for audiences that have come to expect more diverse worldviews thanSex and the Cityever offered.
She is stressed by the presence of her mother-in-law, who is visiting the familys palatial home.
Later, Eunice lectures her son, We never surrender our dignity.
He is blamed for the very racism he experienced.
And the clunkers dont stop there.
Lisa doesnt admonish her.
Where do I begin with this shit?
Why would she flip out upon learning that her French lover lives in the same building as his ex-wife?
He has his own floor in a three-story private residence.
Wouldnt a woman like Seema find his ability to balance his past and his present admirable?
This is where showrunner Michael Patrick King and his writers tip their hand.
