Yes, I took the bullet for you ladies this afternoon by sitting through almost two and a half hours of “Sex and the City 2.” Who am I kidding? You’re probably going to see it anyway if you are a fan, and I’ll try not to give away any key plot points. Just do me a favor, and don’t drag your man with you. Having been married A LOT longer than Carrie, I think I can safely classify myself as more of a marriage expert than she is, and marriage involves compromise - but not this much.
I have never liked these characters. I have never liked the actresses. (Kristin Davis even went backwards and reverted to her extreme bug-eye acting methodology I had thought she had safely left on Melrose Place.) But I'm intrigued by phenomenal popularity of these ladies. If the characters were created on film as opposed to television, I think we would have said goodbye to them long ago. Anyway, as I was looking at red carpet pictures from the premiere the other night, I was noticing OTHER actresses I thought I’d like better in the roles. Oooooh! Becky Newton would be a great Carrie. Jennifer Love Hewitt could nail Charlotte.
Shut up already! You’re just torturing yourself!
The 80s sequence that was given so much build-up in publicity stills you could have probably missed by blinking. The only truly interesting tidbit was that Samantha was supposedly a bartender at CB GB's, and Carrie, dressed as Madonna, met her in that punk rock bar. Whatevah.
Flash forward to Stanford and Anthony’s gay wet dream of a wedding. Here I’m going to point out ONE BIG error for these self-proclaimed style masters. The ushers were wearing Carnation boutonnières! CARNATIONS!! No gay wedding planner would allow that. No gay florist would create that. I know - I’ve worked with both. Orchids or Freesia, Michael Patrick King! Carrie was “Best Man” wearing a tux, but somehow decided it would be wise to wear a black headpiece that made her look like the Wicked Queen from Snow White. Why are these ladies supposed to be fashion icons? And as is always my pet peeve, why can’t rich bitches keep up their dye jobs? Liza Minelli was also there, natch, showing off a killer new set of titanium hips.
Back to married Manhattan land, and one big question: in all of the years since Carrie has known Big (dating back to 1999), she didn’t ever notice that outside the business dinners and chauffeured cars, he was pretty much a regular guy? A guy who likes to (horror of horrors) watch TV? She should have just married Stanford like she pondered about in the first season if she wanted to be out clubbing every night. Big even cooks for her. Real cuisine. Cut him some slack. Yet, the bloom is off the rose for her there. And the bloom is off of Charlotte’s relationship with her baby Rose who cries non-stop, Miranda’s boss is a sexist dick and Samantha can’t get horny without natural supplements to mimic estrogen and she is finally admitting to being older. She may even want to bang someone with gray hair. It could happen.
Off to Abu Dhabi for Samantha to pitch her public relations firm to a hotel magnate and she brings along her posse. More fashion choices I can’t understand. Carrie wears a hat on the plane (who does that?) that is not only huge, but looks like its made out of gum wrappers woven together like people used to do at summer camp. Turbans didn’t work on Elizabeth Taylor even before she got fat ladies, so you could have skipped those too. I'll give Miranda credit for looking like a British archeologist from those mummy movies in one scene. That was cool. And at one point, Carrie whipped out a pair of sunglasses that looked like opera glasses on a long handle. Is that for quick and easy eye coverage for impromptu sandstorms? The rest of the time in the Middle East can be summed up by – culture clash, jokes about the heat, culture clash, obligatory camel toe reference, fashion critique (with disdain) for local women, Karaoke, more odd fashion this time courtesy of the same folks who designed Sputnik, culture clash, Aidan Schmaidan, culture clash, tomfoolery, and home to New York.
Relieved to be at home, they will supposedly live happily ever after. Until we see them next time and realize they didn’t. The strangest part about the movie was that Miranda, typically the downer, was the fun one this time around. I hope they wait a few years to make the next one so that Seth Green (remember, “Scott Evil?”) can play her son Brady.
Oh, and you’ll never want to eat a yam again after seeing it. So if you really like sweet potatoes, I repeat, do NOT go. Also, Muslims in terrorist training camps will probably use the DVD for target practice when it comes out. They're probably ordering bootleg copies of them as I write this.
