Latest news with #TheWoman
Sydney Morning Herald
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
And Just Like That recap: This is the moment we've been waiting for
Elsewhere, I guess Adam's done in Carrie's garden, since the episode opens on Aidan and Duncan sitting silently out there together and Mr Karma has way more time to bury his face in Seema's pits. I'm unsure if 'woman applying deodorant in public' needed a two-episode arc. Seema also got an office, so we could get a whole scene ramping up to the line, 'From WeWork to SheWork!' It's in this scene, when Carrie visits her to have lunch, that our girl finally, finally vents about Aidan's weirdness. She also mentions Big for the first time in years! The awkward courtyard chat with Duncan brings up so much old Aidan residual shame and guilt: her cheating on him with Big and sneaking cigarettes, him wanting her to change her life to mould itself around him, both of them seeing one another as a fresh start despite all the unresolved stuff still lingering. It couldn't go ignored forever. Carrie's late-night writing session with Duncan sends all that steam shooting out. Aidan needs her upstairs eating steaks with him. She doesn't bend to his will the way she has up to this point, and he sulks. When she climbs into bed to wrap herself around him like a koala, he's stewing. As cold as the raw steaks left symbolically on the counter. He sends her away, telling her to shower. 'You smell like smoke,' he basically spits. God, can she start smoking again? After she blows off her own steam in the shoe department, where SJP's IRL BFF Andy Cohen reprises his season six role as 'shoe salesman', she meets Aidan at 'the place we love'. Before her iced tea has even arrived, Carrie needs Aidan to finally stop blaming her for all that old stuff. They have it out. At last! She can't believe she doesn't have Aidan's trust after all the enormous changes she's made for him and with Big's gazillions of dollars. He has trust issues – not had. She was 100 per cent in – not is. Carrie has very real needs, and he's responsible for meeting some of them, which he's proven himself incapable of doing. The way she has been ground down as a result, shrinking herself into this easy, tiny, flexible thing, waiting for him to want her, has been gruelling to watch. This scene almost makes it worth it. I wish it didn't take Carrie this long to come back to herself, but God, I'm glad she's here. Loading At the manse, as a song from Taylor Swift's most verbose era plays (I bet The Woman loves Tortured Poets Department), Carrie removes all the Aidan ephemera from her apartment: two blank postcards and a pillow. Carrie trots off to meet the girls at dinner to discuss their armpits and dizziness, probably. The Woman is looking ahead to the future. Maybe one in which she gets a name. I know, I know – I've had one wish come true this episode, I won't push another one.
The Age
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Age
And Just Like That recap: This is the moment we've been waiting for
Elsewhere, I guess Adam's done in Carrie's garden, since the episode opens on Aidan and Duncan sitting silently out there together and Mr Karma has way more time to bury his face in Seema's pits. I'm unsure if 'woman applying deodorant in public' needed a two-episode arc. Seema also got an office, so we could get a whole scene ramping up to the line, 'From WeWork to SheWork!' It's in this scene, when Carrie visits her to have lunch, that our girl finally, finally vents about Aidan's weirdness. She also mentions Big for the first time in years! The awkward courtyard chat with Duncan brings up so much old Aidan residual shame and guilt: her cheating on him with Big and sneaking cigarettes, him wanting her to change her life to mould itself around him, both of them seeing one another as a fresh start despite all the unresolved stuff still lingering. It couldn't go ignored forever. Carrie's late-night writing session with Duncan sends all that steam shooting out. Aidan needs her upstairs eating steaks with him. She doesn't bend to his will the way she has up to this point, and he sulks. When she climbs into bed to wrap herself around him like a koala, he's stewing. As cold as the raw steaks left symbolically on the counter. He sends her away, telling her to shower. 'You smell like smoke,' he basically spits. God, can she start smoking again? After she blows off her own steam in the shoe department, where SJP's IRL BFF Andy Cohen reprises his season six role as 'shoe salesman', she meets Aidan at 'the place we love'. Before her iced tea has even arrived, Carrie needs Aidan to finally stop blaming her for all that old stuff. They have it out. At last! She can't believe she doesn't have Aidan's trust after all the enormous changes she's made for him and with Big's gazillions of dollars. He has trust issues – not had. She was 100 per cent in – not is. Carrie has very real needs, and he's responsible for meeting some of them, which he's proven himself incapable of doing. The way she has been ground down as a result, shrinking herself into this easy, tiny, flexible thing, waiting for him to want her, has been gruelling to watch. This scene almost makes it worth it. I wish it didn't take Carrie this long to come back to herself, but God, I'm glad she's here. Loading At the manse, as a song from Taylor Swift's most verbose era plays (I bet The Woman loves Tortured Poets Department), Carrie removes all the Aidan ephemera from her apartment: two blank postcards and a pillow. Carrie trots off to meet the girls at dinner to discuss their armpits and dizziness, probably. The Woman is looking ahead to the future. Maybe one in which she gets a name. I know, I know – I've had one wish come true this episode, I won't push another one.
Sydney Morning Herald
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
And Just Like That recap: Genuine tragedy and full-frontal nudity
On a nighttime dog walk past the Guggenheim, Harry shares the news and tries to soothe a terrified Char with the facts: De Niro survived this! He is not going to die for a long time! But he doesn't want anyone knowing and is keen for life to proceed as normal, so Char just has to swallow it. Over in the Gramercy, Carrie's back narrating life in her empty, echoing apartment from the perspective of 'The Woman' in her vague historical fiction novel. Her newly arrived downstairs neighbour isn't the only one in hell. This storyline was triggering to me, someone with a heavy-footed upstairs neighbour and fear of confrontation. The only possible cure for my ills might've been seeing the montage of Carrie stomping about in fabulous outfits as her tenant (?) tosses and turns in a dark, water-damaged apartment downstairs, but sadly it was shot only from the calves down, before Duncan Reeves, revered writer of doorstop-sized historical biographies, bangs on the door to declare, 'You are always walking in heels! Have you no rugs?!' At brunch, Carrie does the unthinkable when describing the scenario to her friends. While announcing that she has rights, she evokes the title of a legendary Sex and the City episode: ' A Woman's Right to Shoes'. Loading Remember that one? It was in that blissful season six period after Berger but before we had to endure Petrovsky? When the show said so much about single women and their coupled-up, new-parent friends who judged them for their expensive footwear proclivities? And it did it all in a compact half hour? I dream of those days. Where was I? Turns out Duncan is like the Ron Chernow of this universe, and he's also 'a lot of fun' according to the disembodied head sending texts as Samantha Jones. He lives it up in London for half the year, then comes to New York to write about Margaret Thatcher, fuelled only by stew, for the other six months. The endless back and forth of 'please walk a bit quieter' / 'no I shan't I have to wear heels always' is just another example of the show's writers' memory loss, considering Carrie was already forced into flats in season one after her hip surgery. Miranda was an awful visitor then – remember her and Che in the kitchen, grunting into each other's mouths while Carrie tried to pee in a Snapple bottle? (My god, what is this show?) – and she remains one now. Once Carrie remembers she has 'the extra rooms' and offers her lifelong best friend a place to crash, they're both on their absolute worst behaviour. Loading Carrie expects Miranda to take HER shoes off and says, 'I know how to walk in mine.' Miranda stalks around the house fully nude like one of the bad guys in It Follows and makes no attempt to cover up. She eats Carrie's yoghurt and banana. Carrie knocks a Coke ('My last Mexican Coke!') onto the new table (I can't even get into the Aidan's-thumbs-down-table of it all any more, we need to have some standards) and mops it up with Miranda's work papers (?!) and then Miranda mops it up with Carrie's silk scarf. These women both need brain scans.
The Age
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
And Just Like That recap: Genuine tragedy and full-frontal nudity
On a nighttime dog walk past the Guggenheim, Harry shares the news and tries to soothe a terrified Char with the facts: De Niro survived this! He is not going to die for a long time! But he doesn't want anyone knowing and is keen for life to proceed as normal, so Char just has to swallow it. Over in the Gramercy, Carrie's back narrating life in her empty, echoing apartment from the perspective of 'The Woman' in her vague historical fiction novel. Her newly arrived downstairs neighbour isn't the only one in hell. This storyline was triggering to me, someone with a heavy-footed upstairs neighbour and fear of confrontation. The only possible cure for my ills might've been seeing the montage of Carrie stomping about in fabulous outfits as her tenant (?) tosses and turns in a dark, water-damaged apartment downstairs, but sadly it was shot only from the calves down, before Duncan Reeves, revered writer of doorstop-sized historical biographies, bangs on the door to declare, 'You are always walking in heels! Have you no rugs?!' At brunch, Carrie does the unthinkable when describing the scenario to her friends. While announcing that she has rights, she evokes the title of a legendary Sex and the City episode: ' A Woman's Right to Shoes'. Loading Remember that one? It was in that blissful season six period after Berger but before we had to endure Petrovsky? When the show said so much about single women and their coupled-up, new-parent friends who judged them for their expensive footwear proclivities? And it did it all in a compact half hour? I dream of those days. Where was I? Turns out Duncan is like the Ron Chernow of this universe, and he's also 'a lot of fun' according to the disembodied head sending texts as Samantha Jones. He lives it up in London for half the year, then comes to New York to write about Margaret Thatcher, fuelled only by stew, for the other six months. The endless back and forth of 'please walk a bit quieter' / 'no I shan't I have to wear heels always' is just another example of the show's writers' memory loss, considering Carrie was already forced into flats in season one after her hip surgery. Miranda was an awful visitor then – remember her and Che in the kitchen, grunting into each other's mouths while Carrie tried to pee in a Snapple bottle? (My god, what is this show?) – and she remains one now. Once Carrie remembers she has 'the extra rooms' and offers her lifelong best friend a place to crash, they're both on their absolute worst behaviour. Loading Carrie expects Miranda to take HER shoes off and says, 'I know how to walk in mine.' Miranda stalks around the house fully nude like one of the bad guys in It Follows and makes no attempt to cover up. She eats Carrie's yoghurt and banana. Carrie knocks a Coke ('My last Mexican Coke!') onto the new table (I can't even get into the Aidan's-thumbs-down-table of it all any more, we need to have some standards) and mops it up with Miranda's work papers (?!) and then Miranda mops it up with Carrie's silk scarf. These women both need brain scans.
New Straits Times
26-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New Straits Times
#SHOWBIZ: Visiting stories within stories
WITH only three actors and an unchanging set, "Visits" unfolds through the stories its characters tell. Each character takes turns delivering sprawling monologues about themselves and others, that spill into one another's narratives, culminating in the reveal of The Woman's past. It was my first Jit Murad play, so I googled his biography while waiting for it to begin. By the end of the performance, I'd become a fan. JitFest 2025, which staged this production of "Visits", seeks to introduce the literary legacy of Jit Murad to a new audience and to popularise the theatre as an art form. Told in the language of gossip, "Visits" is effective in this regard, being entertaining and simultaneously layered in its commentary on societal issues. Through the women, trapped by patriarchy and class, stories become a means of escape and liberation. Stories are a means of identity. "Good story, kan?" The Nurse asks The Woman at the end of her soliloquy about the death of her great-grandmother's friend. The Woman doesn't respond to this question with a response, but the audience just might. This is the third time Ida Nerina has directed a production of "Visits". When people congratulate her for this incredible feat, she jokes there's no need, no growth in doing the same thing three times. She points out what sets this production apart. Other than its subtle reinterpretation of the play's triad of characters, one of this production's key innovations is its use of multimedia projections, possibly to appeal to a younger audience. Of Ida's three productions, this is the only one staged in my lifetime, and the first to incorporate such projections as part of its set. Most theatre-goers my age are only familiar with productions that employ technological gimmicks, but there's something uniquely intentional about the staging of this one. The minimalist lighting casts three shadows from each woman, the projections are artistic but never overpowering, and each choice enhances the storytelling. In the original script of "Visits", the bathroom is an off-stage setting from which the characters would speak. Now, a video feed livestreams the action to a large, overhead screen so that the faces of The Nurse and The Sister-In-Law, who might be read as the play's antagonists, appear, zoomed in and as menacing as Big Brotherly spectres. Ultimately, it was neither the flashing lights nor the screens that held my attention, but the actors' performances. The women begin as nameless, blank slates. As they speak, unravelling the stories with which they define themselves, their identities begin to take shape. "Visits" makes the case for storytelling. It's proof that good stories are worth revisiting, whether to share them with fresh audiences, then for ourselves, our identities, and our liberation. "Visits" will be staged at the Petaling Jaya Performing Arts Centre until Sunday.
