I’ve never been ashamed of myself for genuinely loving the HBO television series Sex and the City. I was in my 20s during the height of its popularity, navigating my own mine field of relationships, friendships, and how sex figured into all of those equations.
A lot of people vehemently objected to the show’s depiction of women: overly glamourous, narrowly defined, and ridiculously promiscuous, but frankly I only saw it as a slight exaggeration in some ways (the high heels) and woefully under-selling in others (women talk way more crassly than this quartet).
And besides, I fell in love with the friendship that formed the heart of the show. All of the rest I could take or leave as I saw fit.
So, when I reviewed SATC: The Movie two years ago, I couldn’t shake the swelling feeling in my chest of reuniting with friends, fictional though they were, that I’d left behind.
The movie was by no means a brilliant feat of cinema, and in reality probably should have just aired on HBO where it belonged, but I enjoyed it for what it was: catching up with characters I’d grown up with.
SATC2, on the other hand, was universally and critically derided as an unmitigated disaster. I reviewed it and penned the numerous reasons for my displeasure, but I still couldn’t shake what really bothered me about the film. Finally, after reading countless scathing reviews, I figured out what it was: the movie finally made me ashamed of being a fan of Carrie and Co.
Like a boyfriend, or girlfriend, you can’t believe you ever slept with or loved, I finally feel a sense of guilt that I’ve wasted so many years on something that’s become an embarrassing parody of its former glory.
These are my actual notes (censored, though) from the SATC2 press screening. Think of it as a real-time guide to my break-up. Sad face for this girl.
So many people here! Never as packed a press screening as there is for SATC.
Flashbacks of the girls in vintage 80s gear. Fun!
Good lord. They’re turning the phrase ‘gay wedding’ into a drinking game. Fifteen times in seven minutes.
Liza Minelli is slurring like a stroke victim. This is painful.
Big is so spray-tanned I feel like he’s a spritz away from George Hamilton.
Closet porn. Stupid fight. Montage as we briefly glimpse what everyone’s been up to. Aw. Miss them.
And, shit, they’re suddenly in the desert wearing ridiculous, hideous things.
Hmmm, insulting people’s culture isn’t quite the same as poking fun at the massive cultural gaps between East and West. Even in Canada, no one wants to see a couple doing it in public at the next table. Trust me.
Camels. They’re riding camels in ridiculous outfits. Bah. I even like camels and bah.
Ugh! Carrie, don’t. Ugh. Ugh.
If you didn’t think the women would end up wearing burqas, you were crazy. And yet, I was so hoping this would be the one point of restraint.
WTF was that?
Sex and the City 2, courtesy of New Line Cinema
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