The sequel hasn’t officially opened to the public, and yet a lot of people are giving SATC 2 the thumbs down. As my friend James Rocchi puts it, “Sex and the City 2 is what happens when Consumerism, Privilege and Lazy Storytelling bump uglies and have a 142-minute long fake orgasm.”
Even in the feminine circle, the movie is getting negative reviews.
I totally get why there’s so much hate. This second movie looks like they threw caution to the wind and had the four ladies just whoop it up with their designer labels, credit cards, and bottles of champagne. Fun in the desert? Complete disregard for customs in the Middle East? Totally okay, because they’re Carrie Bradshaw, Miranda Hobbes, Charlotte York-Goldenblatt, and Samantha Jones. Or so it seems to be.
As much as it pains me to say it, I am very much looking forward to this movie.
I don’t have HBO. Probably won’t ever get it unless it miraculously becomes included in a programming package with Time Warner (HA!). As a result, I only saw maybe three episodes while the show was actually on air; everything else came to me a couple of years after the final episode premiered thanks to Netflix. With this logic, it makes absolutely no sense for me to get wrapped up in the cult following of high heels, cosmos, and flakey dating habits.
That should technically apply for the show “Six Feet Under” as well, but after watching two episodes at a neighbor’s house, I was completely hooked.
Also, I’ve got several Flame Dame tendencies. When you’ve got a gay uncle on each side of your family and tack on almost three years of sharing an apartment with the man who gets referred to as the “gay ex-husband,” you bet your ass I’ve got materialistic woes.
The irony of SATC is that I didn’t watch it to see who what the girls were doing that week. I watched it mainly to see if Steve Brady would make an appearance (because he shares an uncanny resemblance to my guitar repairman).
Going to see the first movie was kind of like going to a college graduation ceremony: you’ve been waiting for that person to walk the stage after years of discussion on whether or not to go for the doctorate. When it comes, the air is filled with anticipation and you’re looking forward to spending time with friends. At least that’s how I felt. And I had a friend who was going to see it with me. It’d be a great girly afternoon.
The duo suddenly became a party of five. My friend would be accompanied by her mother, another friend, and her friend’s mother. Since the four of them had made plans to do some shopping prior to the movie, it was decided that I would meet up with them at the Promenade in Santa Monica. They went ahead and purchased their tickets online, so I followed suit. Showtime was three-thirty; we would meet up about an hour beforehand so we could at least sit together.
I arrived a little bit early and texted my friend, asking her to call/text me when she arrived. She responded that they were wrapping up and that they should be on their way soon. That worked for me, so I did a little bit of window shopping.
An hour passed. No call, no text. I waited another ten minutes, figuring that they had run a little bit behind and would show up soon.
Ten minutes passed and apparently I’d been ditched.
And I was pissed off.
I was ready to just up and leave. I sent a text to my friend, saying that I was going to go home since I hadn’t heard from her. I also told her that I felt I was being a third wheel.
No apology came back.
Had I not already bought my ticket, I would have definitely left. But twelve dollars isn’t something I can carelessly toss around, and I kind of wanted to see the movie.
I felt horribly awkward. The theater was filled with groups of women who were chatting to each other, and here my single self was sitting in one of the side aisle seats, speaking to no one. But I sat through the entire movie and enjoyed myself. It was enough of a boost to cancel out the dejected feeling from earlier.
My therapist was incredibly proud of me for staying through the movie. And I was kind of proud of myself, too.
As cheesy as it sounds, the SATC movie gave me motivation to go out into a sea of women and feel comfortable enough to get out there without a group of friends. My friend had not been there for me, but I pushed myself beyond my social safety zone and I came out okay.
So badmouth the movie if you will, and if you need to cast stones at my person, I completely understand.
This has been a very wordy post, and if you’ve made it this far, thank you.
