Sex and the City Review
by tom elce (dr-pepperite AT hotmail DOT com)May 28th, 2008
Sex and the City (2008)
Rating: 2 / 5
Reviewed by Tom Elce
Director: Michael Patrick King
Cast: Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon, Kristin Davis, Chris Noth, Jennifer Hudson, Evan Handler, David Eigenberg, Jason Lewis, Mario Cantone, Lynn Cohen, Willie Garson, Joanna Gleason, Joseph Pupo, Alexandra Fong, Candice Bergen, Parker Fong MPAA Rating: R
BBFC Rating: 15
Do you want morals with that? "Meet the Spartans" thought it did its job by being a spoof movie with lots of toilet humour, and now "Sex and the City" considers itself worthwhile by simply being nothing more than a farcical romcom with designer brands printed all about it. Either in the childish exchanges between the characters that put divorce down to closet room, scenes in which the importance of never- worn heels are professed or those in which our central foursome talk about their trivial misgivings as if they were actual tragedies, director Michael Patrick King's film is but a 148-minute vanity project. As such, whatever charm our given girls have carried over from the defunct television series makes little matter: They're as selfish as can be, and in an ugly way.
Though at least one of them admits to this. For sure, Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is the most likeable member of the quartet, a more pleasant presence to have on screen than lead Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), businesswoman-like Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and cheery Charlotte (Kristin Davis), if only because she doesn't pretend to be something she's not. She's sex-crazed and uninhibited and self-important, while the insufferable Carrie is a selfish, vane thing whose relationship breakdown with seemingly-devoted fiancee Big (Chris Noth) - on their wedding day, of course - is a tragedy for her but a lucky escape for him. Indeed, before her big day (and let's be frank, it is her big day) the cow breaks the news to her hubby-to-be that she's invited far too many guests, not to mention that she acts as if his work - which paid for the luxurious apartment she, as it happens, shall never live in - is less important than what Big aptly describes as a "circus." That this is hit on the head by writer-director King is notable, but pointless since it asks us to feel sorry for where the circumstances put Carrie.
That Sarah Jessica Parker (in no-neck, head-bobbing mode) takes up most of the screentime is disappointing, since Cattrall and the other gals endlessly outshine her, though their parts don't always do them favours. Kristin Davis, as Charlotte, is asked to participate in scenes of vile racism when she and the rest head off to Mexico for what would have been Carrie's honeymoon. She won't drink the native water or eat unpackaged food, because she's in Mexico. That her adopted child is Chinese is, one assumes, King's permission slip for her racism, but it sure is fraudulent at that. Beyond that, Cynthia Nixon - head held high - tunnels through a condescendingly contrived relationship breakdown with on-screen hubby Steve (David Eigenberg) and, thanks to the talent she exhibits, manages to come out unscathed. This brings us back round to Samantha, who prominently features in all the best moments of the film, including a Valentine's Day surprise for boyfriend Smith (Jason Lewis) in which she cover's herself in sushi only to receive a phone call from him saying he'll be late and then, in a further slap to the face, witness her hunky neighbour having himself a threesome next door.
The cynicism in having a motion picture tirelessly dedicating itself to shameless product placement and designer promotion is to be felt by anyone seeking cinematic value with "Sex and the City," though the film is ironically at its best when portraying itself as exactly that, and not feigning romantic profundity in its multi-narrative pathetically glazed with mouldy cliches. Walking into such a shallow motion picture would have been disheartening for a good portion of the women in the audience, not to mention myself and another three (count them: three) guys dragged along for the ride that drags on too long. That being said, what the film is (as if the abundance of fem at the cinema weren't evidence enough) first and foremost is a chick flick aimed at women who want to take hours to get ready for a date and consider themself oh-so-hot. A disheartening fact driven home when waiting outside in the rain for a ride home and witnessing a trio of tween trouts sat on the ground badgering another, stood alone, (all of whom attended the film) about her weight.
Stuff life the overlong (it wears out its welcome by the 90 minute mark), melodramatic (an admittedly nice scene on the Brooklyn Bridge for Miranda follows the totally overwrought sapfest of her marriage decline), pointless (save for the money all involves shall reap) "Sex and the City" doesn't necessarily breed the sorts of tools mentioned above, but it - along with the insidious, much more despicable "Bratz" - does nurture such obnoxious, "I'm-so-hot" behaviour. Bring a bubble.
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