It’s only fitting that this blog post is under the category, “In the Dark,” because I have no idea how this movie ended. That’s right, I pulled a Benjamin Button and walked out. Only this time the walk out meant so much more - because I was at the movie on a girls night out. I’d like to apologize to my lady friends for leaving without much of a goodbye (though I could have said it out loud as the theater was full of cacophony the entire movie – it’s a romantic “comedy” (note: term used VERY loosely) not a football game. Please save your hoots and hollers for later when you’re wasted face, dancing on the bar that I fought to get my ONE cocktail from.
Anyway, you – my loyal reader(s) are probably wondering why on earth I would see this movie given my history with movie genres and such. Well, I was a HUGE fan of the HBO series. I loved New York, I loved the fashion, the sex, the guys and the singledom that came with the title. I loved the characters, the acting and the writing. I experienced this show as a single lady (with the exception of like season 4). It was relatable and funny and witty and empowering. I’d go on a limb and say it was even life changing. And then it ended. With a forced ending. And then someone grabbed those shockers and brought it back to life in a movie. A movie that at least covered off on the city, the fashion, the girls and a bit of heartache – just like the show that preceded it. But then someone decided it would be a good idea to make it a sequel. And we had a pretty big failure on our hands.
I should have started this post by saying that although I am a writer by both trade and passion I am no Carrie Bradshaw-Preston. I am a loud and proud Miranda Hobbs. I don’t believe in that bullshit fairytale, I rarely let boys push me around in the sandbox and I always tell it like I see it. “Feminist bitch!” you may yell, but I like to call myself a realist. And the first movie shattered realism like I’ve never had it break before. Then this second movie made it even worse. Sometimes, you can’t polish that fucking turd. Sometimes, you have to just admit: a turd is a piece of shit.
I understand that Carrie had to “grow up” and get married like a “big girl”. But I’m sorry, a girl that is crying in Abu Dhabi because she felt like she ran around NYC like a crazy person trying to make the one guy who didn’t love her change his mind might be about to lose that one guy because she wasn’t ready to sit on the couch with him every night and eat take out in the city that never sleeps is not a big girl. She is a lost girl. Sometime between the end of Season 6 and the end of the first movie the writers lost their way. Or the movie lost their writers all together.It’s almost as though the writers had never seen an episode of SATC. Ever. Not even the lame edited versions on TBS.
There were two things that ruined this movie for me. One was the writing. Never have I ever realized how important comedic timing is and how much that falls on the writer. Lines were written for the viewing audience tonight. They were corny and cheesy with the intent to make a full house laugh out loud. Or gasp. Or groan. And it was lame. And most of the theater fell for it. I’ll admit I did too a few times until I realized what I was doing and then I was ashamed of myself. Because I know better than that. Now, the actors do take some of the blame as well for these line failures. There were points of the movie (“prince of my labia”) that were so painfully obvious it was almost as though the actor was looking directly at the camera as if to say, “I said something funny…get it? do you?” Uber. Lame.
The other infuriating thing was the lack of one important character. The pivotal character in my opinion. The one character that brings everyone together under one roof. And that is the city of New York. Granted, I missed the first 10 minutes (because I was fighting to get a signature drink from a crowded bar of “Carrie” wannabees – which I am now washing down with a nice, cold Wisconsin beer). I’m sure there was a huge pan over the city (maybe even at night so we could see the skyline) in my absence. But, really that dumb apartment on the 12th floor, that couch, that bedroom could have been anywhere, USA. And then the girls fly to the Middle East (where we learn that Dubai is SOOOO over – sorry Clair and Tim). In leaving the big apple each character lost a piece of themselves. Charlotte got stupider, Miranda became less witty, Samantha went through menopause and Carrie was an insecure, babbling idiot.
I’ve learned two three four five six important things. 1. M.C. Hammer pants will NEVER be back in style or look good on anyone 2. Girls night out should happen over drinks and NOT a movie 3. Writing is more important that I ever imagine (and I always thought it was pretty damn important…) 4. Marriage and kids are not the greatest thing (or storyline) in the world (unless you’re kids are as cool as my sister and I are) 5. I should never leave home without a flask and 6. losing your character, as a person or a show creator, is a mortal sin.
And with that I leave you dear readers with a review of a movie that deserves nothing but a big ole bottle of Absolute Brooklyn. Yeah, this post was kinda bitchy…but at least I haven’t lost my snarky self. But I have to admit, after the monstrosities I’ve seen in the theatres lately, I’m beginning to develop a slight fear of the dark.
