The internet killed ‘Sex and the City’
Luckily, that doesn’t matter, because the only thing that matters in Hollywood is not a movie’s quality but whether or not a movie makes any money, and there are likely enough still-sucking-down Cosmos ladies of a certain age and their hellspawn who will posse up in their minivans and go see this … this … whatever this is.
Surely, “Sex and the City: The Movie” wasn’t much. In a word, it was depressing. Exhaustingly so, really. It was mopey, often misanthropic, a paean to rejection. Big left Carrie at the altar, leaving Carrie miserable. On the heels of all those tears, the Cinderella ending felt like an afterthought.
This time around, the girls go to Abu Dhabi (actually Morocco), where they wrestle with menopause, cheating, and well-oiled young men. One imagines the problem here isn’t the advanced ages of its stars, the craptastic storyline, or the clawing materialism, but that whatever “Sex and the City” once was, it is no more.
Back in the day, “Sex and the City” was scandalous. It was shocking! For the first time on TV, women talked openly of vibrators, dished on backdoor assignations, and discussed their lovers’ funky spunk. In 1998, that was the cutting edge, kids.
No more. Now, every obscenity is but a click away. The censors have left the building. (Left to our own devices, we find self-censoring isn’t particularly appealing.) We’ve seen it all. We’re so jaded. Without sexual taboos, “Sex and the City” has nothing — no transgression, no insight, no wit.
Adding insult to injury, when Carrie got hitched finally, she no longer represented the endless internal debate of single-something women. When the franchise realized it had created a dud and a downer, it forsook character altogether for clothes.
Is this love? Hardly. As Carrie once told Big, “We’re so over, we need a new word for over.”