NEW Yorkers put up with noise, lack of privacy, tiny expensive apartments and countless other daily insults. But will they shell out 12 bucks for what amounts to a 21/2-hour “very special” TV episode of “Sex and the City” that feels like it was written and directed by an audience focus group in Omaha?
If the ecstatic reaction at the screening I attended is any indication, they might – at least if they’re not heterosexual males bored by the movie’s endless fashion montages, shameless product placements, lethally slow pacing and utterly predictable plot.
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Or if they’re not feminists distressed by the movie’s regressive, unmistakable subtext: that unless she’s a sexual compulsive, a woman is nothing without a man of her own.
I was a big fan of the TV series derived from Candace Bushnell’s book, which defined turn-of-the-21st-century New York and its proudly independent single women in a way that no movie did – at least until it jumped the shark around the fifth season.
The series also broke many sexual taboos, but in the transfer to the more liberated big screen, the quips – like a critique of public grooming and the observation that wedding photos of mature brides carry an “unintended Diane Arbus subtext” – often seem more crass than funny.
Now 40, Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) is working on her fourth book. “The ultimate single gal” (as she is described in a Page Six item) is finally getting ready to tie the knot with the elusive Mr. Big – now revealed as John James Preston (Chris Noth) – after moving with him into a Fifth Avenue penthouse roughly the size of Rhode Island.
Cynical lawyer Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is still married to good-natured Steve (David Eigenberg) and living in Brooklyn with their child. Ditzy Charlotte (Kristin Davis) is raising an adopted Asian child while still secretly hoping to have one with her adoring hubby Harry (Evan Handler).
And randy Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is amazingly still with hot actor Smith (Jason Lewis), for whom she has forsaken both New York and her career in p.r. to manage Smith’s career from a Malibu beachfront house that rivals Carrie’s pad as real-estate porn.
Michael Patrick King, a series veteran who directs his lackluster script in a perfunctory manner, has added one character. Oscar winner Jennifer Hudson (“Dreamgirls”) plays Carrie’s lovestruck personal assistant, whose main function appears to be to extend the movie’s demographic reach to black women.
Carrie, Miranda and Samantha have their relationships severely tested. I won’t disclose exactly how, except for the totally unsurprising revelation that Samantha – who acts more like a gay man than ever and, as usual, gets most of the best lines – is tempted from monogamy by a hunky neighbor.
The plot, which includes a detour to Mexico, often stops for fashion parades – Carrie alone has dozens of costume changes, including montages of wedding dresses and all the ’80s get-ups in her closet. An episode at Fashion Week accomplishes nothing except to bloat the punishing running time.
As was often true of the series, Nixon gives the best performance and she’s rewarded here with the most developed story arc. The still-sizzling Cattrall has lost none of her skill with one-liners – especially in the movie’s funniest scene where the girls use the euphemism “coloring” to discuss sex in front of a child.Davis, still amusing, has almost nothing to do.
Parker’s Carrie spends half the film in a depression, which is a drag to watch. And though Parker is one of the producers, she often allows herself to be photographed in a highly unflattering manner – including a close-up where her mole looks like Mount Rushmore.
The men serve strictly as plot devices. Even resident gays Anthony (Mario Cantone) and Stanford (Willie Garson) seem curiously toned down.
“Why did we ever stop drinking these?” somebody wistfully asks as the foursome hoists Cosmos. “Because everybody else did,” is the reply.
This movie provides no good reasons to revisit “Sex and the City,” except to fulfill fans’ desires for one more for the road and add millions to Time Warner’s coffers. Be careful what you wish for.