Daniel D'Addario Chief TV Critic On a standout episode of the new season of “And Just Like That,” Max’s continuation of the “Sex and the City” franchise, Carrie faces a conundrum. She’s been roped into recording the audiobook of her memoir — a retelling of the past year or so of her life as a new widow. A character beloved for her say-everything ethos, from her frank talk with friends to her newspaper columns that we once heard in voiceover, finds herself unable to speak. It’s a moving moment, one that leverages both the deep connection viewers feel with the character, and Sarah Jessica Parker’s somehow still-underrated winsomeness as a performer. And it represents the promise of the ungainly, odd show “And Just Like That” has shaped up to be. On this series, an often-frustrating clunkiness not only coexists with moments of real power, it burnishes them: The strangeness and sublimity of “And Just Like That” lies in how its flaws feel predictable and knowable, like the contours of a friendship.