That’s what they should have called the movie. I haven’t gotten one of those special people “before the movie comes out” viewings. I’m not famous or infamous enough. Not, yet. My analysis comes only from the trailers I’ve seen. The trailers are enough, however, to say that there sure isn’t going to be a whole lot of sex or city in this one. We should just call it Four Middle Age Ladies and a Camel. I think that would pretty much sum it up.
Analysis on the Sex and the City series is enough to fill the pages of both the old and new testaments. There are countless critical essays on it. I have both favorable and unfavorable thoughts on the show. As a feminist I pay close attention to some of the behavioral patterns the women have displayed over the years. I regard the seemingly liberating capture of female sexuality as an unfortunate failure. The portion of the show's aim to free women from the bondage of sexually subservience was sloppily executed. I understand the struggle. It is nearly impossible for a television show to disrupt the complex societal dichotomy of women either being angel or whore. Moreover, a show on women, sex, and a city are certainly not going to have many teaching points. I digress.
With that said, as a young woman that loves fashion and the allure that comes with New York, never having been, I giggle like a little girl when I sit before Carrie Bradshaw and her three friend's hilarious antics. During college when I began my Sex and the City obsession I would return to my dorm at the end of a day, or when I needed a quick sex pick me up and for thirty minutes that was my equivalent of being a little boy hiding beneath his covers flamboyantly reading Vouge. So sinfully delicious! I called the four women "my girls". I was able to identify with each of them on a fashion level, sexual level, and an emotional one. The writers beautifully created and evolved each woman. Each woman tragically flawed, yet, strong and defiant. The vulnerabilities that were present transcended both race and class. The show created and maintained a formula that will quite possibly redefine television forever.
I speak with such esteem for, what many may call trash television, to prove my loyalty to the brand, to the sensational actresses that are the voice of that brand. The show is so much more than just a show. It’s a life style. Thus, in no way is my criticism from a place of not understanding the "hype" surrounding the phenomenon. I get it. I understand why on the May 30, 2008 premiere of the original Sex and the City film women all over the nation slipped into their very own five hundred dollar manolo blahniks, upper east side-esq outfits, and lined up at the theater. I get why cosmopolitans are the drink of choice when a woman sits at a chic lounge and wants to feel equally as chic and "fabulous" as the decor around her. I understand the sentiment that this sensation has created.
My understanding and appreciation for this original HBO hit is what makes me ask, "what the hell are they doing?" I mean, what are these writers doing to “my girls”? The writers have taken the formula and multiplied it by two and the number just equals something very odd. I appreciated the Sex and the City series finale. The viewers got what they wanted, Big finally telling Carrie she was the “one”. Perfect ending. The finale was an obvious nod to Carrie fans. It was in the first season that Carrie asked Big to just “tell me I’m the one”. Carrie becomes the Cinderella she has always wanted to be on the finale. Carrie Happy? Check. Fans Happy? Check. Obvious? Very. I would have appreciated the finale consisting of Carrie and Big having a tearful “one last time” goodbye and the screen fading to black. I guess the writers had to give everyone the “Happily Ever After” they wanted. I guess everyone isn’t as dark as me. I understand.
I took issue with what “my girls” were turned into in the first movie. Women that were supposedly breaking rules on marriage, babies, and domestication were now conforming on all accounts. The movie , very well written, colorful, wardrobes to die for so I let my skepticism slide. When I heard there was to be a second movie, however, I threw in the towel. Enough already. Then I saw the trailer. Double enough already. They have “my girls” talking about menopause out in the desert, on camels no-less. Carrie, who has loved Big from season one, has now become a sexually frustrated housewife that cheats with safe and boring Aidan. How has Carrie’s life become so mundane that she has to cheat with a man whose normalcy use to make her cringe. I am not impressed. I didn’t really expect to be impressed with a second movie. There was nowhere for the chronicle of these women to go after the conclusion of the first one.
Hopefully when I go to the premiere on Wednesday night my mind will change. At the present moment, however, I will just keep calling it “Four Middle Age Ladies and a Camel,” because those certainly aren’t “my girls.”
To Be Continued…
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