So it turns out that gay men might like fairy tales even more than girls. I'm not going to make the obvious fairy joke, and neither should you, but "Sex and the City" creator Michael Patrick King left some much-needed fabulousness out of the new movie.
Some of my girlfriends mentioned that we should see it together, so I had it all planned. Cosmos at my place, movie, more cosmos. But then it wasn't a good night, and knowing that it won't be in theaters much longer, this cosmo-drinking, handbag- and shoe-addicted girlie took her ass to the matinee. Besides the fact that I like going to the matinee alone (if it involves Johnny Depp or Carrie Bradshaw), I couldn't wait any longer and I knew I'd be with four friends anyway -- Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda.
The thing that non-fans don't know is that the girls are your girlfriends. Their adventures sometimes coincide with yours, or they did. The show was a celebration of womanhood that you either relate to or live vicariously through. It was a funny and dramatic guilty pleasure, and that's where the movie falls short.
As I drink, I mean write this, I'm drinking a cosmo and smoking a cigarette (just for effect), and I'm reminded of how I got my friend, Racquel, into the show. I was Carrie, and she was Samantha, and every woman is really a combination of all the characters. That's what's brilliant about it.
As I took a seat, another girl by herself in the row behind me gave me a knowing smile. And as familiar friends unfolded on the big screen, I was actually giddy. I had goosebumps at the intro that explained the back stories I already knew. But the movie quickly took a turn.
Chris Noth seems to have forgotten how to act, but you can hardly blame him, given the flat dialog. The girls are now almost caricatures of themselves. And for a show that once declared, "Don't ever say Cathy Comic to me again," they dangerously approach that pathetic territory.
"But wait," you say (if you've seen it). "They're older. They're dealing with new things." Sure, sure, but the plot points are trite, and the characters are, in some ways, drastic departures from the ones you know. Even the climax was a BIG no-no, in my opinion as a writer and a fan. Even worse, I didn't really laugh once.
Now there is something about Carrie Bradshaw's cry. SJP just cries well, I guess. I was moved at times. The film does have redeeming qualities, but it's not what it should be. I used to laugh out loud every week at the show, but the movie is greatly lacking Carrie's signature wit.
There was one line. Carrie and Miranda are shopping for Halloween costumes, and Miranda says, "The only choices for a woman are witch or sexy kitten," and Carrie responds, "You said a mouthful there, sister." Now that's funny, and that's one thing the movie needed more of.
Instead, the subject matter was marriage, babies, adultery ... you get the point. I don't want to spoil anything, but it was all too serious. I know they're in their forties now, but the whole point was for them to be fabulous at any age, married or not. There is actually potty humor in this movie, and not enough ... I don't know. Sex?
Yeah. I don't think Samantha even had sex once in this movie, and they're all whining about bullshit. We don't want a movie about those girls being more boring than we are. Come on! (But then again, I am very exciting. And on my way out, the little movie attendant boy told me that I should've been in the movie. Thank you, movie boy. Damn right.)
In trying to have substance unlike any that was previously established, the film misses the mark, and there were moments that were embarassingly chick-flicky. And then the end was tied up in this neat little bow, similar to a fairy tale that made me want to barf and left me mad at Carrie and the writers. While Carrie may have been ready for Mr. Big, this story wasn't ready for the big screen.
