Sex and the City Review
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This spring, while guys geared up for the summer-blockbuster return of their favorite characters—like Batman and Indiana Jones—women everywhere have been polishing their favorite pumps and preparing for the long-awaited, much-debated big-screen debut of their favorite TV show, Sex and the City.

The highly-anticipated movie finds sweet and innocent Charlotte (Kristin Davis) wide-eyed and overjoyed in her life as wife and mother. For her three friends, though, things aren’t so simple. Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is struggling to be supportive of her boyfriend, Smith (Jason Lewis), and his demanding career. Workaholic Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) discovers that her husband, Steve (David Eigenberg), cheated on her.

And then there’s Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker). All’s well for the successful writer and her on-again love, Mr. Big (Chris Noth). But when they finally find the perfect apartment and begin planning to move in together, Carrie worries that, with nothing legally binding the two together, she could end up with nothing if their status ever changes back to off-again. So the two unceremoniously decide to get married. Once Carrie starts planning the wedding, though, things begin to spin wildly out of control.

Though I’ve seen only a few episodes of the ridiculously popular TV show, I figured that seeing the movie might make me want to go back and watch the rest. Instead, this long, drawn-out, melodramatic mess made me glad I never sprung for HBO.

While I’m not a fan of the show, though, I do know quite a bit about it (I don’t live under a rock, after all). And I know that women loved the show because it was open and honest and even real. Set aside the glamorous lifestyles and the designer duds and the fancy parties, and these women were all women. They faced the same problems, they had the same feelings, and they shared all that stuff with their friends (over martinis). But none of that comes through in the movie. It lacks the depth and wit (and even that touch of realism) that I remember from the few episodes I’ve seen.

Instead of four strong, sassy women, the characters are flat and completely predictable. Their onscreen time together reminded me of my days as a camp counselor for 13-year-old girls: lots of whining and moaning and shrieking. For my campers, everything was overflowing with melodrama—and the same is true of the women in Sex and the City. Though the story is totally predictable, they spend so much time whining and moaning about everything that they get absolutely nowhere. But rest assured that they do it in the most dramatic way possible—while carrying expensive handbags.

The film is supposed to be about four forty-something women trying to figure out when to stay and when to leave—as well as when to give and when to take. You’d think that, after spending 20 years sitting around and discussing this stuff together, they’d be able to come to some sort of conclusion in less than 148 minutes. But, sadly, the fluff (and the constant wardrobe changes) gets in the way.

In the end, the movie feels like a whole bunch of hastily-written episodes slapped together. And instead of celebrating strong, forty-something women and their friendships, it’s more of a celebration of couture and cluelessness. If this is what women are really like, then I’m glad that most of my friends are guys—if only for their aversion to shrieking.

Of course, if you’re a fan of the show, it goes without saying that you’ll want to see the movie—just don’t expect too much. And don’t drag your husband/boyfriend/non-fan friends along—because this is a movie that only a fan can love.

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