Image courtesy of Warner Bros. PicturesAfter being spoiled by the quiet, reflective, unobtrusive arena of press screenings over the last couple of years, I've definitely developed a taste for their reclusive atmosphere. For film geeks like me, it's the way movies were meant to be seen. Unfortunately, I don't always have the opportunity to screen every film I want to with the rest of the media, leaving me to decide whether or not it's worth the effort to tolerate a gathering of inconsiderate, herd-like commoners in their usurping of the local multiplex on any given opening weekend.
Every once in awhile, though, an opportunity presents itself where I can use the local movie theatre to conduct my own little sociology experiments. Friday was one of those days. It was the day every Frau in America invaded theatres across the country to see Sex and the City: the Movie on opening day. Having been a fan of the early seasons of the show, I have to admit I was a little intrigued by a film version promising to tie up all the show's loose ends; and, since I had missed the press screening for SATC, I headed over to Cinemark Friday morning for the 10:30 showing.
The circus started the minute I set foot inside the theatre where I was literally greeted by what had to have been the largest human feeding trough I have ever seen. Even though I was only 15 minutes early, the Fraus had already filled up the entire first row (right behind the aisle railing where everyone props their feet); and, damn near all of them were chowing down on giant tubs of popcorn they had wedged between their thighs. Choking back vomit, I quickly headed up the steps to the back row, found a seat, and hoped no one would notice me laughing at them.
As for the film itself, I really don't see the point in discussing the narrative because there isn't one interesting or unique plot twist. Carrie and Miranda have relationship issues, Samantha has sex issues, and Charlotte's life is fairy tale perfect. (Can anyone say redundant?) The only joke that made me laugh during the entire movie was a poop joke courtesy of Charlotte, and the only new element is Louise (Jennifer Hudson), the personal assistant Carrie hires to add some "color" to the mix. God, don't even get me started on that mess. After sitting through Hudson's flattened performance, it was painfully obvious Hudson should have netted a Grammy instead of an Oscar last year. Believe me, the girl can NOT act.
What does it say about a film when its audience is more entertaining than the film itself? I actually saw 2 men among the sea of women, both were elderly (probably in their 60s), both were dragged there by their wives, and both aptly utilized the film's 148 minute run time to take a nap. (At least someone had the right idea.) While the two boys slept, the rest of the Fraus were hard at work texting all their friends (who weren't there) as they went ga-ga over all of the labels flaunted by their favorite group of anorexic, Cosmo-chugging fashionistas.
Speaking of labels…. What irritates me more than anything else associated with SATC over the years is how the fans have gotten so caught up in the fantasy of the show, they are no longer thinking for themselves. It amazes me how many women can't (or refuse) to see that 5th Avenue is only using the phenomenon as a marketing platform to showcase grossly overpriced designers…designers most of the fans can't afford.
What I did like about SATC when it first hit the HBO airwaves in 1998 was how the show went against mainstream ideology by celebrating instead of chastising the successful single gal in her 30s. It didn't call us "sluts" for being sexually active, and it didn't tell us we were "stupid bitches" for choosing to wake up "40 and alone." Ironically, it was the male members of the media who called female fans of SATC these lovely names. (FYI, that's what happens when ideology tells you something you already don't want to hear.)
However, since change and character development are mandatory for TV shows to last more than one season, SATC had to evolve to survive. Apparently, writer Michael Patrick King took that to mean the ladies needed to stop sleeping around on the show, settle down, and have a couple of them get married by the time the series ended in 2004. How twisted is it that the TV show that started out as a valentine to single women ended up turning its back on them by letting the film become a valentine to marriage?
Of course, the hypocrisy doesn't stop there. Another one that drove me nuts was how the characters spend the entire movie preaching "fairy tales don't exist," yet all 4 of them manage to live happily ever-after. Even better, how about the one where Carrie continually stuffs her face and remains a size 0 without ever exercising? Or, my personal favorite: all it takes is the "right woman" to cure Big's fear of commitment even though he continues to make and break up with Carrie so many times I've actually lost count. Bitch, please.
As for all the women holding "SATC parties" before rushing out to see the film, I just don't get it. It's only a movie. But, then again, I've never had a problem separating fantasy from reality unlike most SATC fans. The way I look at it, the bastards may have gotten $5 out of me for a movie, but there's no way in hell they're ever going to get me to cough up $500 for a pair of fucking shoes.
Every once in awhile, though, an opportunity presents itself where I can use the local movie theatre to conduct my own little sociology experiments. Friday was one of those days. It was the day every Frau in America invaded theatres across the country to see Sex and the City: the Movie on opening day. Having been a fan of the early seasons of the show, I have to admit I was a little intrigued by a film version promising to tie up all the show's loose ends; and, since I had missed the press screening for SATC, I headed over to Cinemark Friday morning for the 10:30 showing.
The circus started the minute I set foot inside the theatre where I was literally greeted by what had to have been the largest human feeding trough I have ever seen. Even though I was only 15 minutes early, the Fraus had already filled up the entire first row (right behind the aisle railing where everyone props their feet); and, damn near all of them were chowing down on giant tubs of popcorn they had wedged between their thighs. Choking back vomit, I quickly headed up the steps to the back row, found a seat, and hoped no one would notice me laughing at them.
As for the film itself, I really don't see the point in discussing the narrative because there isn't one interesting or unique plot twist. Carrie and Miranda have relationship issues, Samantha has sex issues, and Charlotte's life is fairy tale perfect. (Can anyone say redundant?) The only joke that made me laugh during the entire movie was a poop joke courtesy of Charlotte, and the only new element is Louise (Jennifer Hudson), the personal assistant Carrie hires to add some "color" to the mix. God, don't even get me started on that mess. After sitting through Hudson's flattened performance, it was painfully obvious Hudson should have netted a Grammy instead of an Oscar last year. Believe me, the girl can NOT act.
What does it say about a film when its audience is more entertaining than the film itself? I actually saw 2 men among the sea of women, both were elderly (probably in their 60s), both were dragged there by their wives, and both aptly utilized the film's 148 minute run time to take a nap. (At least someone had the right idea.) While the two boys slept, the rest of the Fraus were hard at work texting all their friends (who weren't there) as they went ga-ga over all of the labels flaunted by their favorite group of anorexic, Cosmo-chugging fashionistas.
Speaking of labels…. What irritates me more than anything else associated with SATC over the years is how the fans have gotten so caught up in the fantasy of the show, they are no longer thinking for themselves. It amazes me how many women can't (or refuse) to see that 5th Avenue is only using the phenomenon as a marketing platform to showcase grossly overpriced designers…designers most of the fans can't afford.
What I did like about SATC when it first hit the HBO airwaves in 1998 was how the show went against mainstream ideology by celebrating instead of chastising the successful single gal in her 30s. It didn't call us "sluts" for being sexually active, and it didn't tell us we were "stupid bitches" for choosing to wake up "40 and alone." Ironically, it was the male members of the media who called female fans of SATC these lovely names. (FYI, that's what happens when ideology tells you something you already don't want to hear.)
However, since change and character development are mandatory for TV shows to last more than one season, SATC had to evolve to survive. Apparently, writer Michael Patrick King took that to mean the ladies needed to stop sleeping around on the show, settle down, and have a couple of them get married by the time the series ended in 2004. How twisted is it that the TV show that started out as a valentine to single women ended up turning its back on them by letting the film become a valentine to marriage?
Of course, the hypocrisy doesn't stop there. Another one that drove me nuts was how the characters spend the entire movie preaching "fairy tales don't exist," yet all 4 of them manage to live happily ever-after. Even better, how about the one where Carrie continually stuffs her face and remains a size 0 without ever exercising? Or, my personal favorite: all it takes is the "right woman" to cure Big's fear of commitment even though he continues to make and break up with Carrie so many times I've actually lost count. Bitch, please.
As for all the women holding "SATC parties" before rushing out to see the film, I just don't get it. It's only a movie. But, then again, I've never had a problem separating fantasy from reality unlike most SATC fans. The way I look at it, the bastards may have gotten $5 out of me for a movie, but there's no way in hell they're ever going to get me to cough up $500 for a pair of fucking shoes.
© Left From Hollywood 6/2/08
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