On Monday, I watched a pre-screening of Sex and the City 2. As I sat there trying to trudge through the less-than-witty writing, unbelievably hollow storyline and gratuitous glitz & glamour, I thought, “I cannot wait to write a scathing review of this movie.”
Throughout the movie, I scoffed. I rolled my eyes. I also think there was one point where I threw up – no, I didn’t “throw up in my mouth a little” – I actually vomited. Regurgitated. Spewed chunks.
After getting exhausted from incessantly apologizing to the three friends who accompanied me for the 146 minutes of the worst episode of SATC, I was too lazy to wait for the bus and hailed a cab home. As I sat there, I kept on thinking to myself: “That movie was awful. Dreadful. Disgusting. Pathetic.” Then I thought, “What happened to the four girls we fell in love with in a groundbreaking TV series that comedically and dramatically explored the world of the female libido?”
I do not wish harm upon these lovely ladies nor do I think they are worthless. I hate to say it, but their story is no longer needed. The first movie (which gets more stale with each viewing), was a decent goodbye to Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, Charlotte and the whole lot of them. But apparently, there were people who cared about what they did with their lives after their “semi-happily ever after” ending so they made a sequel. It’s as if they just planted a camera in the lives of these women only to find that there was absolutely nothing exciting to document, so they just took the least boring of the boring and made a movie about it (or maybe they just wanted to make one big ol’ Halston ad).
All in all, Sex and the City 2 is the equivalent to Ocean’s 12. It was supposed to be “fun” – but it seemed like the actors were having more fun than the audience.
That’s kind of self-indulgent, no?
On the other side of things, this sequel is breaking ground. (Please do not roll your eyes – hear me out on this.) During the summer, many excessively produced blockbusters are manufactured from Hollywood. They are full of mind-fucking CGI, wasteful pyrotechnics, battering ram weaponry, exploding Hummers, crash landing helicopters, and mindless acting. These cinematic adventures are aimed at the masses – mainly men. Sex and the City 2 is the female equivalent.
This movie is all about blatant excess: the magically paid for trip to Abu Dhabi, Sarah Jessica Parker’s 41 costume changes, the constant shopping, the second tiered acting, the $10 million dollar wardrobe – think about it – this is the Transformers 2 for females. The only difference is that the sophisticated computer generated technology is replaced with sophisticated couture pieces that will make the eyes of females (and gay men) pop out of their skull.
No one cares about the story. Who cares if Aidan randomly comes back into Carrie’s life? (Believe me, it is pointless.) Who cares if Miranda makes a turn from a workaholic to an unemployed lawyer? Who cares about Charlotte’s bra-less nanny? Who cares that Samantha has sex? (Actually, the last one is something that people will care about – mainly because it is Samantha.)
Some subplots may hit a chord with audiences (primarily Charlotte and Miranda’s bond over being a stressed mom) but everything else is in the background in this glam-buster of a movie that is paving the way for fashionable female-centric films with a hefty price tag. The materialistic weight of the movie has eclipsed these characters. People will watch this movie despite bad reviews just because of the brand name.
Sure, there may be other summer chick flicks, but the bedazzle and gloss of Sex and the City 2 is on another level – even if it is a level I do not want to not want to enter.
- Excited
- Fascinated
- Amused
- Bored
- Sad
- Angry
