Yes, I know that Sex And The City 2 opened like four days ago. And I saw it on opening night! So why exactly did it take me four days to get a review of this movie (which made $51.4 million over the weekend) up for your consumption?
Because thinking about this movie makes me want to die.
I knew going in that I was not anywhere near the target audience for Sex And The City 2. I had seen a few episodes of the TV series when it was still being aired on HBO and found it repugnant in every single way – the atrocious combination of Manhattan smugness, narcissism and histrionics delivered by the show’s four leads felt like a cheese grater to my spinal column. And, thankfully, I missed the first movie, which seems to have been nothing more than an extended-length TV episode with a bigger budget.
So, on to the sequel. Here’s the plot in a nutshell: four gracelessly aging biddies traipse off to Abu Dhabi so that one of them can devise a PR campaign for an Arab sheikh’s luxury hotel. For some reason, he agrees to take her trio of nattering problem-wombs as well, and the quartet decamps to the desert for… well, for nothing, really. They wallow in consumer luxury and have shallow problems to “deal with” – Carrie meets an old flame! Samantha’s going through menopause! but none of it has anything to do with anything outside their insulated, hollow “lives.” There’s no reason in the world this film needed to be set in Abu Dhabi. They could have done it on a white-box stage with a box of props like The Fantasticks.
I know this movie shouldn’t make me angry – it’s escapist fiction for women who hate reality, a sort of gender-swapped Rambo, but it does. It celebrates everything repugnant about the American way of life – our unflagging delusion that our personal problems are of global significance, our obsession with material goods and brand names, and our inability to empathize with anyone not inside our income bracket. Oh, and did I mention the celebrity cameos? Miley Cyrus is in this movie, for no Goddamned reason! So is Heidi Klum! And Liza Minnelli! Wow! They almost made me forget that this bloated whale of a movie is two and a half hours long.
So this is why this review took so long: every time I think about it, I start ranting. If you’re still tempted, just give me a phone call and I’ll call you fat for two and a half hours. The end result in terms of enjoyment will be about the same.
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