Sex And The City 2: This Time, With Even More Shiny Stuff!

From left to right: Bossy Miranda, Yelpy Carrie, Sexaholic Samantha and Optimistic Charlotte.
Off screen: The shattered remains of my soul.

I wasn’t going to see the new Sex and The City movie, but after the ferocious critical response – and then the furious aggregating of that response on women-focused blogs – intrigued me. I thought I would see it, write about it myself and see if I couldn’t illuminate a corner of Carrie’s shriveled soul that someone hadn’t before.

Well, I can’t. The critics have covered everything. The movie is long, dull and hideous to look at, with gaudy clothes and even more hideous interiors. There’s no more plot here than in a catalog, which makes sense since this is a movie about stuff, from cars to rings to watches, instead of characters. It offends gay men, Muslims and women, even though they’re the ones who are expected to strap on their highest heels and go in costume, like so many Star Wars nerds, to watch it.

So, since all the best points have already been made so frequently and humorously, I’ll take my mom’s advice and say something nice. Or else I won’t be able to say anything at all.

Five Good Things I Could Say About The Sex And The City Sequel:

1. Boy, they cast Miranda and Steve’s son well. He freakishly has David Eigenberg’s face, but Cynthia Nixon’s hair and eyes. Was he grown in a lab?
2. There are two fine male asses to be seen in this movie.
3. At one point, Charlotte wears a rather cute red and white striped dress.
4. Craning my neck to see the whole screen from only the third row was still less nauseating than watching Avatar in Imax 3D.
5. I regret seeing it less than I regret paying 99 cents to download Casper’s Cha Cha Slide (Part Two.)