No more "Sex" Michael Patrick King. PLEASE!
By the time "Sex and the City 2" struts to its infernal end, moviegoers will beg for such mercy from this film's director and stars.
No wonder.
King and company pack this mortifying sequel with lame Carrie puns (like "She's ‘The Hormone Whisper," Carrie's moniker for the menopausal Samantha).
They whack audiences with predictable plots and contrived empowerment messages dressed up in fashionista porn.
They pummel fans' ears with a Liza Minnelli redo of Beyoncé's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" that looks and sounds like the corpse danced at midnight.
Worse still, designer fashion and a screaming rant about condoms (courtesy of Samantha) become the great unifiers here between Muslim conservatism, downtrodden Arab women and American liberation.
You watch. You wince. And you wonder how HBO's clever, well-written TV phenom ever spawned this Tyrannosaurus Rex of ridiculousness?
I took along Jamie Patterson, a male friend from work. This was his introduction to the "Sex and the City" movie franchise -- although he spent part of last weekend catching up on episodes from various seasons of the TV series.
He liked the movie more than I did.
Jamie says: "I see the ‘Sex and City' girls evolving into ‘The Golden Girls' of their generation. Nothing wrong with that. I like ‘The Golden Girls.' That show was lots of fun, dealt with many of the same issues ‘SATC' does, and never felt the need to make Blanche preach the virtues of commercialism and feminism."
What went wrong?
Squint hard and you will find a kernel idea here that should have touched any woman or man over 21.
What do you do when you look in the mirror and cannot recognize who you've become?
Time marches on, even for Carrie and her gal pals. But every step along the way King turns this glam squad into sorry caricatures of their former selves.
Charlotte (Kristin Davis) is driven bonkers by two kids and a braless nanny she fears will seduce her husband.
Samantha (Kim Cattrall) battles menopause with all the hormone pills, creams and advice she can buy from Suzanne Somers.
Lawyer Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) sees her dream job go toxic thanks to a new, overbearing boss.
And Carrie, the star of this woe-fest, can't believe that her husband, Big, would rather unwind on their new sofa than paint the town red every night.
The nerve!
Where once they were fierce, fighting feminist emblems these girls now look like fearful middle-aged cupcakes. Sadly, they can't hear anything above the wild, self-absorbed screeching in their heads.
Jamie says: "Like watching a favourite band on a reunion tour, even if they aren't everything they once were, it's fun just to see them again doing their thing after all these years."
More bad moments than good
The script doesn't improve when the girls fly to Abu Dhabi to find themselves. Whatever good they (or we) find comes with a whole lot of bad.
Love it: Miranda and Charlotte tell it like it is about the realities of motherhood.
"There's 6,700 miles between us and New York, Charlotte. Go on. You can tell me," Miranda cajoles.
Before you can say "One more Cosmo, Ahmed!" Charlotte is bitching about her crying, demanding kids. She hates what motherhood has done to her."
"Being a mother isn't everything," Miranda nods. Terrible to admit, but true.
Loathe it: Carrie's head gear. Did someone tell Sarah Jessica Parker that she was playing the wicked queen in "Snow White?"
How else can we explain the widow-peaked headdress she wears at Stanford's wedding?
Note to Ms. Parker: you are not Audrey Hepburn. The stylist who pulled this eyesore should be banned from "Sex and the City 3" (yes, we know its coming!).
Love it: Remember when Daniel Craig rose from the ocean in "Casino Royale?" Samantha's new love interest, a Danish architect named Dick, rises from Abu Dhabi's desert sands like sex on the stick. "Lawrence of my labia?" Samantha purrs. Who could blame her?
Loathe it: The film's opening
With Alicia Keys' singing "Empire State of Mind," the heavens part to reveal an Oz-like New York City.
Fabulous towers shine. Swanky Manhattan bustles with Fifth Avenue flair. That's the scene as Mrs. Big struts out of her posh apartment and reminisces about her arrival to NYC in the 1980s. It's what she calls "New York City B.C. – before Carrie."
Ugh!"
The verdict: "Sex and the City 2" may thrill some diehards the way that shark in "Jaws" lit up whenever a freshly severed limb got thrown his way.
The airbrushing is good. The pool boys are buff. But with no hint of intelligence, this whining mess does little more than tarnish the memory of what once was "Sex and the City."
Jamie says: "The unfortunate thing about ‘SATC2' is how close it could have been to being a good movie, if only they hadn't decided to suddenly run-off to Abu Dhabi on some ill-conceived mission to spread their brand of materialist feminism across the Arab world. What follows are a series of real groan-worthy, ham-fisted and condescending moments, such as the gals singing 'I am woman, hear me roar' in a karaoke bar, Samantha repeatedly dropping condoms in front of groups of men, and Carrie, in a burka, showing some leg to hail a cab."
Constance's rating: Half a star out of four.
Jamie's rating: Two stars out of four.
