It’s this wide variety of perspectives assembled that allows the series to be as ambitious as it is.

Linney and Dukakis shoulder the weight of these new hours, although Morelli writes an edged selfishness into Mary Ann that would be irritating if not for Linney’s lithe, comedic handling of her self-absorption. ... The fact that this new San Francisco doesn’t invade “Tales of the City” is one of the show’s greatest attractions. That inevitability lurks around the periphery, but the timeless nature of Barbary Lane and the city’s loyalty to its mother figure somehow defeats its incursion. That in itself makes this series worth savoring.

But even as I rolled my eyes or scratched my head at various developments, the performances and the optimistic (and very Maupin) spirit buoyed me through the whole thing. Turning Mary Ann into everyone’s most exhausting friend allows Linney to deploy her underrated comic chops. ... The new Tales is imperfect, but it’s beautiful enough in spots to qualify.

The series has many faults, often gets lost in its own self-indulgence, but it’s easy to admire how much effort they’re putting into making something for a queer audience—both new and old.

Flawed, narcissistic and doing its best. Sometimes it’s doing its best a bit too hard.

There are a handful of scenes where the writing, acting, and gutsiness of the underlying story cohere into something raw and striking and well made. In other moments, though, Tales of the City feels like a rough draft, both bloated and aimless.

There’s no energy or conviction in the storytelling, and while Linney, Gross, Bartlett and Page occasionally strike some sparks when they’re onscreen together, scene after scene goes by free of any real dramatic or emotional payoff. ... The story lines involving the younger characters consistently default to flat, safe conversations about gender and queerness. ... Draggy, preachy and a little morbid.