The anticipation and preparation that went into attending the “Sex and the City” movie on opening night was much more like getting read to attend a fabulous A-list event than simply going to the movies. K, who relishes going to the theater in her Nikes and favorite jeans, unveiled her new Vera Wang sweater (okay, it’s the line from Kohls department stores) and my finest heels (well, again, Kohls) for the event. And, inspired by Carrie Bradshaw herself, I went along with two other couples, one married and one seriously dating. Yes, that’s right folks, K was the fifth wheel, and I rocked it in true Carrie Bradshaw spirit.
Along with a nation of other “SATC” fans, we had dinner and drinks before the show, and then strapped on our stilettos and headed down to a beautiful landmark theater in our fair city. After finding out that heels and dark movie theaters don’t mix, the movie began to the applause of thousands of eager fans.
“Sex and the City: The Movie” is a glitzy two-hour reunion with Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda in a better-than-decent movie version of the hit HBO show. While the acting, the humor and the majority of the writing was, well, fabulous, I felt the first forty-minutes of the movie was terribly and obviously manipulative. I don’t want to spoil too much about the plot, (but honestly, if you paid attention to the first round of trailers released earlier in the year, you can figure out what happens), but I’ll just say Big lets Carrie down in a Big way; Miranda gets to be very Miranda-like, and Samantha has moved to LA to manage Smith Jerrod’s career (which must be crackin’ considering he couldn’t muster up a single tear or convincing facial expression during his short scenes with the always-funny Kim Cattrall). And Jason Lewis has aged more than the 51-year-old Kim Cattrall. Seriously, stay out of the sun, dude.
What I did enjoy, besides the slapstick comedy of Kim Cattrall and the always preppy Charlotte, was that it followed the girls through very different, problems and it stayed emotionally grounded without dragging the mood of the viewer down. Whether it was through fashion, patented “SATC” puns or one of the girls shitting their pants, the gut-wrenchingly dramatic moments were always peppered with much-needed levity to keep the audience from crying into their smuggled in cosmos.
Sadly, my favorite character, Charlotte, didn’t have much of a storyline, but she was allowed some zingers with the entire Big-Carrie debacle. She was blissfully happy, and felt guilty about being happy, especially when she discovered she was pregnant. I wished they would have found a way to give her some sort of drama in her marriage with Harry. But I supposed some people are happy in their marriages and go through wonderful turmoil-free parts of their lives. As a writer, that’s the part we skip over.
I imagined the movie would follow the very tight, snappy pacing of the show and that it would be written like five episodes as opposed to one long one. But it wasn’t. Carrie’s voiceovers all have to do with what happens after you find love (it was the topic of the book her character was writing), but with the length of the movie, it was hard to remember what the voiceovers were referencing and the central point was muddled in few of the lagging bits of the movie, like most of the Jennifer Hudson arc and a lengthy montage of a “Vogue” fashion shoot.
Ultimately, Michael Patrick King, the writer-director (and my fucking hero), managed to recapture most of the spark that ignited the popularity of “Sex and the City” the TV show. Admittedly, some of the fabulousness was a bit contrived and evoked a been-there, done-that reaction. But it was wonderful to see the girls on the screen, and even better to be excited about a movie, an event, that dealt more with love and fashion, not transforming cars and billionaires in iron suits. “Sex and the City: The Movie” is a chance for women to dress up in celebration of themselves, regardless of their dating status or how designer the label.
Along with a nation of other “SATC” fans, we had dinner and drinks before the show, and then strapped on our stilettos and headed down to a beautiful landmark theater in our fair city. After finding out that heels and dark movie theaters don’t mix, the movie began to the applause of thousands of eager fans.
“Sex and the City: The Movie” is a glitzy two-hour reunion with Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda in a better-than-decent movie version of the hit HBO show. While the acting, the humor and the majority of the writing was, well, fabulous, I felt the first forty-minutes of the movie was terribly and obviously manipulative. I don’t want to spoil too much about the plot, (but honestly, if you paid attention to the first round of trailers released earlier in the year, you can figure out what happens), but I’ll just say Big lets Carrie down in a Big way; Miranda gets to be very Miranda-like, and Samantha has moved to LA to manage Smith Jerrod’s career (which must be crackin’ considering he couldn’t muster up a single tear or convincing facial expression during his short scenes with the always-funny Kim Cattrall). And Jason Lewis has aged more than the 51-year-old Kim Cattrall. Seriously, stay out of the sun, dude.
What I did enjoy, besides the slapstick comedy of Kim Cattrall and the always preppy Charlotte, was that it followed the girls through very different, problems and it stayed emotionally grounded without dragging the mood of the viewer down. Whether it was through fashion, patented “SATC” puns or one of the girls shitting their pants, the gut-wrenchingly dramatic moments were always peppered with much-needed levity to keep the audience from crying into their smuggled in cosmos.
Sadly, my favorite character, Charlotte, didn’t have much of a storyline, but she was allowed some zingers with the entire Big-Carrie debacle. She was blissfully happy, and felt guilty about being happy, especially when she discovered she was pregnant. I wished they would have found a way to give her some sort of drama in her marriage with Harry. But I supposed some people are happy in their marriages and go through wonderful turmoil-free parts of their lives. As a writer, that’s the part we skip over.
I imagined the movie would follow the very tight, snappy pacing of the show and that it would be written like five episodes as opposed to one long one. But it wasn’t. Carrie’s voiceovers all have to do with what happens after you find love (it was the topic of the book her character was writing), but with the length of the movie, it was hard to remember what the voiceovers were referencing and the central point was muddled in few of the lagging bits of the movie, like most of the Jennifer Hudson arc and a lengthy montage of a “Vogue” fashion shoot.
Ultimately, Michael Patrick King, the writer-director (and my fucking hero), managed to recapture most of the spark that ignited the popularity of “Sex and the City” the TV show. Admittedly, some of the fabulousness was a bit contrived and evoked a been-there, done-that reaction. But it was wonderful to see the girls on the screen, and even better to be excited about a movie, an event, that dealt more with love and fashion, not transforming cars and billionaires in iron suits. “Sex and the City: The Movie” is a chance for women to dress up in celebration of themselves, regardless of their dating status or how designer the label.
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