But, before I review the movie, let me review why I went to the movie. Yes, I saw the uninspiring trailer. Yes, I read the scathing reviews. But, when your friend puts on a show, you go to the show. And for many years now, I have thought of Carrie Bradshaw as a friend – at times, more than a friend – something closer to a soul sister. She called her book Sex and the City, I named my blog Knit and the City. She referred to her man as Big, I referred to mine as Tall (and that was even after the show went off the air). I really related to her, and her struggles as a single girl in the big city, looking for love and the One.
But, after this movie, our friendship is over. Carrie Bradshow, you have irrevocably damaged our friendship, and I cannot forgive you.
Two years or so have passed since Carrie married Big, and she’s bored. She’s afraid that they’re becoming an old boring married couple, more wedded to the perfect prized couch they purchased than to each other. And, her fears are compounded by Big’s anniversary gift – a flat screen t.v. supposedly so they can watch old movies in bed together, but really so that Big can relax after work and watch something like The Greatest Catch, or whatever that fishing show is called. For some reason, she feels that their relationship is validated by late nights on the town, glamourous movie premieres, and dinners at the hottest new spot in town — because don’t think for a second the Carrie Bradshaw is going to learn to cook. All Carrie can do is shop, and allegedly write – however, since her laptop lives at her old apartment, it’s unclear how often she really does that either. So, since she has no interests, and nothing else to do, she creates problems, treats her husband pretty callously, and becomes a character that you would might meet on Housewives of New Jersey instead of Sex and the City.
What always made Carrie so appealing was although she was so like me – she wasn’t – she had all of these fantasty elements to her life that could only make someone like me sigh – the fabulous apartment in New York, the dream job of writing a column for the NY Times, the job that only required her to work in the beginning of the show and the very end, and the Clothes and the Shoes – and the money. But, take away all of the fantasy, and she was still very much like me, and my other single, struggling friends.
But, now the fantasy has jumped the shark, and the girl underneath is an asshole.
Wearing a ballgown to a spice market in Abu Dhabi does not make me embrace the fantasy – it makes me think you’re an idiot.
And that is the problem with Sex and the City 2 – Carrie Bradshaw is no longer someone I want to hang out with, she is no longer someone I relate to, and she is certainly not someone I would call if I had a problem – because she would immediately say, “Oh, really, well let me tell you what happened to me . . .” This Carrie is selfish, self-centered, shallow, and frankly boring. And she has no apparent interests other than herself. In one scene, she’s on a plane, and she says, “And, while I was sitting there, I began to think about relationships.” Began to think? Honey, that’s all you think about – and really, ya gotta stop. There’s a whole big wide world of stuff going on out there beyond your relationship, and a few interests here and there would help. What always held the show together, and the second movie, was the relationship among these four women – but Carrie has abandoned that relationship – she’s a shitty friend to all of them. She snaps at Charlotte, she ignores Miranda’s job qualms, and she rolls her eyes at Samantha’s menapause struggles. And now that she’s a shitty friend, she’s a shitty character, and the franchise, for me, is over.
And, if the franchise could survive Carrie’s fall from fantasy grace, it couldn’t survive the horrendous writing — this movie was embarrasing to watch. When Liza Minnelli sings All the Single Ladies at Standford and Anthony’s wedding (Stanford and Anthony? Really? It had to be because they were the only single characters left on the show, and they married each other by default, because they never had one iota of chemistry together before on the show), I just wanted to tell her to put her pants on, sheesh. The dialogue is forced, the zingers don’t zing, and Samantha has become such a caricature of herself, I was embarrassed watching her – watching her air out her vagina in her office, and looking like a raving lunatic, waving condoms in the face of an angry mob of Middle Eastern men in Abu Dhabi – and Abu Dhabi – really? Wrong city. The whole thing was like a bad Abbott and Costello movie.
So, Carrie, you and I are breaking up, and next time you throw a party, don’t invite me, because I’m not coming.
So, what’s this – eh, a flower I shot last night – I just didn’t want to leave you with such negativity on a Friday.
Have a great weekend everyone! Tonight, I am lucky enough to have my husband home at a decent hour (he usually works until 1:00 a.m. on Friday and Saturday), and we are going to the movies. Since my picking privileges are revoked (and no, I didn’t get to pick Sex and the City – I went with a girlfriend, Joe was spared), we’re going to see Get Him to the Greek – I am so punished. But, it’s ok, because at least I get to eat popcorn, and hold hands with my handsome husband. And, after the movie, when we return to our home, and cuddle in bed, watching our flat screen t.v. and whatever my husband wants to watch because he just worked a 10 hour day, and was still wonderful enough to take me to the movies, I will think what a lucky girl I am. Even if it is the Mecon Car Auction.
How about them apples Carrie Bradshaw?