I have been a writing fool this week. It's been good, but very busy. So yesterday I decided that after I finished my column, I was going to do something completely mindless and go see the Sex and the City movie. I mean, it's not like I have a choice—I write about dating and sex. It's practically a job requirement.
My review: meh. Sex and the City has always been one of those shows that I watch compulsively, but am inevitably annoyed by. Part of this might be because anytime I meet someone new, upon finding out what it is that I do, they chirp, "OMG—just like Carrie Bradshaw!"
My answer: "Exactly. Except fat and poor."
So yeah, I didn't have expectations of anything more than a mindless, two-hour diversion and that's what I got. The thing I liked best about the flick was that the audience was exclusively female. How often does that happen? (Okay, that and the poop joke—that was hilarious.)
The thing I liked least was Big. I've always had a wet-on for Chris Noth—that big, puffy, hunk of alkie Irishman. . . Admittedly, I was more fond of the Law & Order Noth than the SATC Noth, but here, he really bugged me; not sure if it was his character's unlikely evolution into a wuss or the fact that Noth and his IRL girlfriend just had a baby, thus cementing the fact that he'll never be mine. But for whichever reason, he was a disappointment.
Shockingly, the clothes weren't completely atrocious. Well, except for Samantha's. Oy vey. Those brightly colored suits and animal-print pants? Yikes. Her wardrobe looked like leftovers from Working Girl. SJP is normally the one with the idiotic outfits, but Patricia Field really kept herself in check this time around and managed to be mostly tasteful.
In the interest of avoiding spoilers I won't go into any of my various problems with the plotlines, but overall it was heartening to see a movie about women, starring women, and made #1 at the box office by women.