Sex and the City - Freeper Review

My seething mind | May 31 2008 | Moi

[A_perfect_lady]

I’ve just seen Sex and the City and now I’m going to review it. There will be spoilers. If you’re still waiting with baited breath to see this movie (a description that I doubt applies to many Freepers) don’t read any further unless you’ve already guessed that it’s going to be pretty much like a Jane Austen story but with gratuitous sex scenes, designer clothes, and a plethora of clichéd observations about life and love. In other words, a happy ending, and no one dies.

I should say right away, I was expecting someone to die because I’d overheard a rumor a month ago that the movie was going to have a lot of huge surprises, and it might be that someone dies. So through the whole movie I kept waiting for Mr. Big (who is indeed getting portly) to have a heart attack. Alas, he didn’t.

I should also admit I never watched the series. I saw about five minutes of it once, enough to see that Carrie’s needy pursuit of an unavailable man, Mr. Big, was painful and pathetic to watch, and that Samantha was a trollop. Beyond that I knew nothing, and my friend who accompanied me to the movie had to spend the first ten minutes whispering, “That’s Miranda, she’s bitter… that’s Charlotte, she’s the romantic… Oh, Big has put Carrie through a LOT over the years…”

So perhaps I’m in a good position to assess the movie objectively, as I have no attachment to the characters. This, then, is what I noticed.

1) Superflous designer porn: Many of the scenes were completely unnecessary from a plot-development point of view. They were merely excuses to show the women trying on designer clothes.

2) Artsy shots: Most of Sarah Jessica’s entrances start with the camera on her shoes, then panning up her long, shapely legs until finally… (reluctantly?), settling on her face. Now, much has been said about her face, but really, the only thing that bothers me is that monstrous wart on her chin. I was in the second row, so that baby was the size of my fist. I do not know why no one has taken her aside and said, “Do not give me the speech about how imperfections make your face unique. Believe me, your face is already plenty unique. Get rid of that wart before I take an exacto knife and do it myself.”

3) Reality level: The movie seemed very much one long female fantasy. That is to say, in it, at least two female characters who have been dumped, toyed with, used, stood up, and otherwise treated in a very cavalier manner by the man of their dreams, finally have the satisfaction of having that man come back to them and say, “I was a fool; you are The One.” I’m no expert, but I have observed over the years that men usually know their One way early in the game. They don’t have to tie her to the bumper car of life and drag her behind it for a year or ten. I think they abandoned the “He’s Just Not That Into You” writer and decided that they’d write the script so that he IS into her, dammit, he IS. He just needs TIME. He has ISSUES. He’s SCARED. But really, you’re The One. Really. You are. And when the time comes, you won’t need that designer wedding dress. Whatever.

4) Gratuitous sex scenes: most of them were played for comic relief, but they were so graphic I actually looked away. I mean, the usual sex scene consists of some sweaty flesh and sinous movement, but these were more of the “Ooo, watch the vigorous humping, look at those buttock clench” style that frankly makes your average cinema writhe seem graceful in comparison.

5) The characters themselves: Honestly? The women were kind of irritating, at least to me, because I didn’t have any built-in loyalty. Charlotte seemed like a nice enough girl, but the rest, oy. Samantha seemed like an aging trollop who is putting on weight and getting increasingly crass. Miranda is so unpleasant I couldn’t understand why anyone married her. Carrie is just on camera way too much. Here’s Carrie trying on old dresses and modeling them. Here’s Carrie trying on wedding dresses and modeling them. Here’s Carrie flinging her hair. Here’s Carrie dying her hair. Here’s Carrie with feathers in her hair. Here’s Carrie crying. Here’s Carrie laughing. Here’s Carrie sleeping. Here is Carrie’s 100th close up. Here’s Carrie’s wart. It’s coming to get you.

6) The characters, part II: the men were … well … Samantha’s boyfriend seems okay. Charlotte’s husband didn’t abuse his three minutes of screen time. Mr. Big is now a heavy set, middle-aged fellow who always seems about to heave a heavy sigh, rub his face tiredly, and go to sleep. The only character I liked was Miranda’s husband, a man who had my sympathies all the way through no matter what he did.

7) The End: no big surprises, really. Sooner or later everyone makes up, or makes a decision that doesn’t surprise anyone. All the women try on more designer dresses, hug each other, squeal, drink cosmos, talk about love, talk about friendship, and then run around New York in spike heeled shoes, flinging their hair. Oh, wait, there is one big surprise. Someone poops their pants. I won’t say who, but I will say that I seemed to be the only one in the theater who didn’t think this was uproarously funny. All in all, I give it a C-. In a word, trite.

[longtermmemmory]

YIKES!!!!!!

That is supposed to have her looking the best!!!!!

GEEZ!

she looks like those old ladies you pity.

[longtermmemmory]

try http://www.themoviespoiler.com

even stephen king got pissed off at the site for revealing the end to his more recent load of tripe.

[YCTHouston]

Thanks. I thought maybe if I knew which one it would be funny, but I think she’s actually the pretty one.