in the saddle again: Sex and the City 2.
Is What It Is
and the City 2
by Michael Patrick King
reviews of Sex and the City 2 were out before I made
my own investment of nearly two and a half hours, and they
were very, very bad. There are already whole Top 10 lists
of the “best,” that is, the most vicious and gleefully insulting
things said about the newest visit with Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah
Jessica Parker) and her cosmo-n’-couture-lovin’ friends (Kristin
Davis, Cynthia Nixon and Kim Cattrall). Industry gossips are
wagering it may be the worst-reviewed movie of the summer.\
have avoided reading any of the reviews, so as to remain unprejudiced.
(Well, I did read the one that claimed that the movie was
best understood as a science-fiction movie, one with “chronal
stasis,” “phantom geography,” and shoes as “the City’s harbinger,
the City’s familiar, and Carrie’s tormentor.” It was awesome,
but I don’t think it influenced my experience of the movie.
More’s the pity.)
Nor did I see the first big-screen Sex and the City,
or watch the series. So, it is with innocence and purity of
heart that I render my very bold and original judgment:
This is a very, very bad movie. It’s lazy, shallow, halfhearted
and inane. The characters are caricatures, the jokes are predictable
and repetitive, the story emphasizes place over plot, and
the acting has all intensity of an early, if affable, table
But . . .
It is an intensely stupid movie, true. But no more so than,
say, Bikini Summer, or one of the other bazillion “Late
Night” flicks in which we learn, over and over, that straight
guys love hot chicks, that some cars (or motorcycles or speedboats,
whatever) are cooler than others, and that there’s always
an uptight so-and-so ready to harsh your mellow. But in the
end, true love and/or a good lay conquers all.
Does anyone expect those things to be “good”? When Johnny
Depp gets his lifetime achievement Oscar, do you think the
reel’s going to be heavy on Private Resort?
So, this just in: Straight women like hot men, some shoes
(or red-carpet dresses, or bath products, whatever) are better
than others, and there’s always some uptight patriarchy ready
to harsh your mellow. But in the end . . .
For the record, the movie bored me (and my date, a woman,
if it matters, and moderate fan of the previous works in the
franchise) damn near to death. And though the others in the
audience giggled heartily at times, it trailed off as the
movie passed 90 minutes.
If you’re interested in a sharper, more subversive and funnier
twist on the boys-and-bikinis perennial, by the way, check
out the old Saturday Night Live sketch “Schmitts Gay,”
starring Adam Sandler and Chris Farley. Make dinner plans,
though. At one minute and 23 seconds, it’ll leave you a lot
of time to kill waiting for your shoe-fetishist friends to
get out of SATC2.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.