Tuesday, 22 July 2008

Why I Hated Sex and the City - The Movie

See, if I wanted to watch a somewhat believable story about four sassy women, their lives, their men, and their questionable taste in clothes, bring me the recently released box sets of The Golden Girls. I'll even take the Power Puff Girls … anything please, but this.

But I went. And I specifically went alone, so as to avoid every single SATC dress-up party cocktailing its way through Singapore. Seated amidst giggling twenty somethings who'd clearly never seen a single episode on DVD in their life, such were their gasps of horror at every sex scene, I sat through it. A wincing 2 hrs and 25mins of uh, pretty dull crap.

Watching the quartet of Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte in movie form, written as older, wiser and having supposedly deeper more meaningful lives and challenges, yet were still apparently "the girls", merely came across as four braying clothes horses who’d forgotten the fun, forced the fashion and worse still, were obviously forcing the friendship. Oh hang on, isn’t that what happens to female friendships in the 30s and 40s?

Or perhaps I’ve missed the plot, lost the deeper meaning. Not. The writers left them glossed over, and worse still, grating.

Their characters were just better written and funnier when it was a series on the rise and cosmo's and Manolo B's weren't yet yesterday. And when women weren't all trying to vie for the "Carrie" title.

Moody Miranda
Was it me, or did Miranda, cracking one brittle laugh after another, look like she was going to fall over from the weight of last season’s bangles strapped half way up her forearms, that she carried around like a near-stiff wax work? I'll give the writers a 10 however, for portraying her relationship, her challenges and her woes closest to real life.

Cheesy Charlotte
Was not Charlotte’s banshee “don’t you touch my friend” scene after vapid, self-serving Carrie got dumped at the altar, a touch too histronic for a movie based on a series about four hypothetical women – the sort of two-dimensional pals many women wish they had or think they are, but really shouldn't - that largely doled out advice (albeit well researched and written) on guilt free sex, shoes and clothes, the mystery of the Brazilian, and the supposed secrets of female friendship?

Coddled Carrie
Bra straps? The uber fashion-skank routine is passé as hell. And, so much chatter about the "fabulous clothes." Really? The one and only truly great fashion moment in the entire film was the reminder of how much fun eating MSG-infused Cup Noodles on a rainy day indoors, is.

Sly Samantha
All the best lines. Totally in character. Looking good girl. Thoughts of a spin off movie? Hardly brain surgery. She rocked.

Mr Big
Dude made the right decision, in a wrong way. But more to the point, did wardrobe go out to lunch when they were supposed to get a rack of pants that didn't perpetually end at his ankles?

The assistant's LV bag, and a word about shoes
That bag is fug ugly. And for the record, so were the Manolo B's Carrie left in the wardrobe.

Oo. Perhaps this was really all Patricia Field’s revenge. Or was it revenge on Patricia Field? Either way, nay, nay, nay.


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