‘And just like that’ Che Diaz is the worst character on TV

This is a preview of our pop culture newsletter The Daily Beast’s Obsessed, written by senior entertainment reporter Kevin Fallon. To receive the full newsletter in your inbox each week, register here.

My therapist said that Che Diaz couldn’t hurt me.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder, how long will it take for these scars, this trauma inflicted by the indisputable worst character on television, to heal?

I am a And just like that … apologist. Yes, there are moments of HBO Max Sex and the city sequel series that are absolutely mortifying to watch, but I find there is some verisimilitude to that. There’s no way these characters will adapt to a new generation and a new era of social mores without wobbling in their stilettos trying to navigate things.

Is it different from the ambitious and sexy vibes of the original SATC? Sure. But in a great post for Vox this week, writer Alex Abad-Santos pointed out just how much that could be the goal. The series “finds insane comedy in the humiliations of life,” he writes. The reboot “isn’t just fabulous. It’s about reckoning with your obsolescence.

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Regardless, the series is nothing if not polarizing. For all of those who revel in the tireless charms of Sarah Jessica Parker every week, there are those who seem personally offended by the show’s lack of quality. (I think it’s getting better and better every week. On the other hand, The New Yorker‘s Emily Nussbaum, who is an authority on the legacy of the original series, tweeted, “Okay, I gave this SATC suite 5.5 eps.” I’m outside. It’s not fun, it’s just bad.

Yet in these times of division – in everything to do with Carrie Bradshaw or whatever – it’s heartwarming to know that there is one thing that seems to have united us all: a passionate hatred for the character of Che Diaz on And just like that

It’s no exaggeration how insufferable this character is. To call them uncontrollable is not hyperbole. “Cringing” is not a strong enough verb to describe what the body does reflexively when it is onscreen, as a physical defense mechanism. It’s more like an elaborate tuck and roll of the couch followed by an army crawl to hide under the bed before letting out a shrill cry of “No!” Like the one I learned to do from Oprah on an episode of her talk show about protecting yourself from kidnapping.

Che, played by Grey’s Anatomy alum Sara Ramirez, is one of the new characters added to the series in a panic awakening, destined to remedy the cardinal sin of the original race’s unforgivable whiteness – a lack of diversity that should of course be addressed in any way. restart or restart. Several of these characters are really captivating; I adore the friendship that forms between Carrie and Sarita Choudhury’s Seema Patel, a dynamic that begins to fill the void of the Carrie-Samantha friendship, if not necessarily the shameless scorching.

However, every moment of Che Diaz onscreen is absolutely mortifying.

This is Carrie’s non-binary pansexual boss, who hired her to co-host a podcast on gender and sexuality. It’s actually a clever creative move to introduce a character who forces these privileged multimillionaire white baby boomers to forge their way into a progressive mindset.

It’s nice to see how Carrie takes Che’s identity at face value and gets used to using different pronouns. This Che would provide a mirror through which Charlotte begins to understand that her own daughter is rather beautiful. That they would be the catalyst for Miranda’s sexual arousal was wired a mile away. The script is good, although Che’s thing is almost impossible to watch.

What a pity that a character like this is so obnoxious. Anybody wants to distinguish the only new LGBTQ + character in a series as the worst. However, Che Diaz leaves us no choice.

There should be a conversation about gender, sex, and homosexuality in a modern world Sex and the city story. And that should be shocking. It should be unsettling for these women. It should also make sense and be presented in a way that remotely resembles how a real human talks or behaves.

Whether it’s the content of their podcast or whatever is said in what has become the four most heartbreaking words of the past 12 months on TV – “The Che Diaz Comedy Concert” – whatever the wake-up call , the enlightenment or nervousness that’s supposed to occur with all the grace of tripping over my laptop charger cord as I get up for another glass of wine on a Friday night.

It’s not provocative, and certainly not smart. In fact, it makes it seem like some far-right expert or creator is satirizing or parodying these conversations and the addiction to awakening the left. That’s how wide and obtuse it is.

It’s not provocative, and certainly not smart. In fact, it makes it seem like some far-right expert or creator is satirizing or parodying these conversations and the addiction to awakening the left.

Cynthia Nixon’s interactions between Che and Miranda are difficult to watch. It’s not because of a discomfort with the queer attraction being explored. This is because Che is unbalanced. The shootout of weed on a vape pen. Fingering in Carrie’s kitchen while Carrie pees in her bed. Instructing Miranda to “get me a DM” if she wants to go out again. It’s hard to describe the vibe in words, other than saying the vibe is unsettling. Every time someone calls Miranda “Rambo” an angel loses her wings.

Thankfully, Che only appears in a flashback to the aforementioned cooking skills in this week’s episode, but their presence appears to be the catalyst for a serious discussion between Miranda, Charlotte, and Carrie about what Miranda does and how. this case could explode his life. It is beautifully played. This is the best scene of the episode. That’s all we could ask for, having gone through these last six weeks of And just like that …: talking about Che, but not having to hear from Che.

Che and Miranda on And just like that …

HBO Max

If, like me, you have the great misfortune of not being able to remove your eyeballs from your Twitter journal – that’s a disease – then you’ve seen that I’m not the only one thinking of Che Diaz.

For the past few weeks, even on days when a new episode of And just like that … hasn’t gone down, there’s been an endless barrage of messages dragging the character out for dirt, whether it’s comparing him to Omicron or illustrating the dread one feels every time he introduces himself on his podcast: “Hey! It’s Che Diaz!

Where does Che Diaz rank in the pantheon of horrible TV characters? I’m not sure they’re as bad as Ellis Boyd from Smash or Dana Brody from Country. They could give April of Gilmore Girls a run for its money. They are at least as boring as Ani de 13 reasons why. Is this a cousin Oliver /brady heap serial killer ? It is too early to tell. This is actually what is disappointing here.

There is something admirable about the mess of this series – and appropriate for a group of unmoored women as life circumstances force them to understand, once again, who they are and what they expect from the world. , not to mention how to exist there as it changes around them. Yet from what I can tell, the main talking points so far have not been on that, but on Peloton, the disturbing accusations against Chris Noth, and how insufferable Che Diaz is. It would be a shame if the series didn’t have another season as these things have overshadowed any real consideration of the series.

And just like that, despite Che Diaz, here we are again defending this series.

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