Friends Don't Let Friends See Sex and the City

By Siobhan Dixon

Let me preface this review with the following cautionary note and rating: COCKTAILS ARE ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY FOR THE VIEWING OF SEX AND THE CITY 2––if possible, before, during, and after!

I was two for three, having had four mango margaritas before the movie and even sneaking a fifth into the theatre in a Styrofoam cup, because I was warned of how horrible this film is. But perhaps that was my mistake––I missed the oh-so-critical post-film cocktail which, may have helped numb or even erase the painful movie-going experience that is Sex and the City 2.

To be clear, the intention of this blog is not to bash every film we see, but it just so happens that there are some seriously bad movies being made, and unfortunately, this is one. I am an avid fan of the Sex and the City television series, which is smart, funny, and edgy; however, the film adaptations have ruined all of that.

I hated the first film, particularly the fact that Carrie settled for a thoughtless proposal and low-budget wedding at city hall after Mr. Big left her at the altar, so when word spread that Carrie’s ex and fan favorite Aiden would appear in the film’s second installment I started to feel a tiny kernel of optimism. In conjunction with the constant commercials and non-stop media hype, I admit I lost touch with reality. I thought maybe, just maybe, the franchise could be redeemed and this film would be good, but I was sadly mistaken.

The film is set two years after the conclusion of the first film. But beyond that it seems the writers had nowhere and no clue where to take the characters’ storylines, so they opted for simplistic, vapid, and unoriginal, complete with 80s flashbacks and a karaoke scene.

Carrie, who apparently no longer writes her newspaper column, has just completed another book based on her two years of marriage to Big. But in truth, she fears they may have already “lost their sparkle,” whatever that means.

Now the mother of two girls, including a terrible two-year-old, Charlotte finds herself exhausted by the demands of motherhood, despite the fact that she doesn’t work and has a nanny!

Miranda's storyline seems the most contrived because any follower of the show knows that as a partner at her law firm, she is a passionate career woman. So why now does she suddenly hate her job and (insert cliché!) feel that her voice isn’t being heard?

And lastly, what chick flick would be complete without the obligatory “I’m going through menopause” shtick? Enter Samantha, the medical miracle who unlike every other menopausal woman experiences loss of sex drive and difficulty reaching orgasm, has still managed to keep up her whoring ways. Hence, cliché, after cliché, after cliché, after cliché.

But wait! There’s yet one more: Carrie’s gay best-friend, Stanford, marries Charlotte’s gay best-friend, Anthony, in what proves to be the most flaming of gay weddings. And I say this in no way to be offensive because the excessive use of stereotypes offended me––and I’m straight!

Case in point: Liza Minnelli’s 64-year-old ass performs Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” in a sequin mini-dress and knee-high boots. Surely this scene is intended to be comical, but I assure you, it isn’t. It’s simply absurd and campy, essentially setting the tone for the rest of the movie. Dana must have had a premonition because it was at this point that she fell asleep! Thus, I was forced to endure the rest of the film solo!

The second half of the 2.5 hour movie moves from West to East as Samantha somehow manages to parlay a public relations gig into an all expenses paid one-week trip to Abu Dhabi for all four women. At this point, the film’s fate is sealed. It takes on an almost Looney Tune-like quality, employing overtly offensive cultural stereotypes, trite plotlines, bad writing, corny music, and unconvincing acting.

Things become so sophomoric, at one point I wasn’t sure if I was watching Sex and the City 2 or Disney’s Aladdin! For instance, there’s a scene where condoms fall out of Samantha’s purse and the girls are chased by a mob of angry Muslim men through an Abu Dhabi marketplace. Isn’t that eerily reminiscent of the scene in Aladdin where he races through the Arabian streets trying to evade authorities because he stole food?

At this point, I was so irritated, offended, and quite frankly, bored that I texted my sister: “This movie is so bad!!! Dana has been snoring her ass off for about 1.5 hours, if not more. I envy her!”

As the film wrapped up, I didn’t care who cheated with who, who was forgiven or even if they came back to the U.S. The ending, like the rest of the film, was lame and unimaginative. And as the credits rolled and Dana awoke from her slumber, I was just glad it was over.

Ironically, I’ve been sipping on a mango margarita while writing this review. No I’m not an alcoholic! I just needed some assistance reliving the mockery that has become of one of my favorite television shows. So it seems in the case of Sex and the City 2, cocktails are needed before, during, after, and even while writing a review.