It’s Anna’s 90th birthday party and Mary Ann Singleton (Laura Linney), the prodigal straight, anally retentive daughter, returns to San Francisco older, sadder, no wiser and just as square as ever. It’s 20 years on and we’re back at Barbary Lane, which according to the consumer law of sequels is considerably bigger (Escher levels of decking, stairs and, erm, fairy lights), more aspirational and less fabulous than the original. Our very own 28 Barbary Lane located in the spacious, open-aspected, radical mind of Maupin. After all, Tales of the City remains the first proper home of generations of LGBT+ people. Sometimes it’s doing its best a bit too hard, which I guess is to be expected when the stakes are this high and the original – both books and mini-series – this fiercely loved. We’re still people aren’t we? Flawed, narcissistic and doing our best.”Īs for Lauren Morelli’s respectful reimagining of Tales of the City, executive produced by Armistead Maupin and the result of an all-queer writers’ room, it’s … flawed, narcissistic and doing its best.

“Hmmm,” replies the original house mother, straight to camera, in that fabulously bone-dry, bone-loving slooooow tone that only Olympia Dukakis – OLYMPIA DUKAKIS! – can pull off. H ow much has San Francisco changed since the 60s? This is the question posed to Anna Madrigal – ANNA MADRIGAL! – in the opening frames of Netflix’s Tales of the City reboot.

Tales of the city barbary lane