Monday, June 7, 2010

Sex and the City 2 :: Film :: VUE Weekly

this is pretty much the best sex and the city 2 review ever:

"Once upon a time, a young gay man encountered a critically-acclaimed HBO series, only to ask the question 12 years later, "Do all women turn into thoughtless, self-serving bitches once they reach the top of the New York social ladder?"

I began to wonder about this after one of my favourite shows of my early 20s went to hell in a hand basket after following the mad popularity of its sixth and final season with a feature film, going from a weekly trailblazing dose of cultural references and unconventional romance to a lacklustre Vogue fashion spread drunk off its ass on pink martinis. Going over and over in my head for months where things went wrong, I decided to do what half of the other gay men on earth had already penned in on their calendars—see the disastrous sequel for myself on opening weekend, and just maybe, if I downed two pints at the bar next to the theatre before going in, it might not be as bad as all of the other reviews told me it would be.

Meeting Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha at the fabulous Theatre One, right next door to where a bulked-up Jake Gyllenhaal doffed his shirt for a Disney epic, I was carried off to a number of exotic locales: a perfectly legal gay wedding in Connecticut, a luxurious first class trip to Abu Dhabi and of course, that cozy little brownstone apartment with the closet that never seems to run out of space. Everybody who was anybody was there, from Liza to Miley to Penelope to Aidan, the guy that half of Carrie Bradshaw's fans wish and whine she would have ended up with.

Meanwhile, on the upper east side of the theatre, two hundred or so straight girls laughed, gasped and squealed through the whole ordeal, not caring this way or that if the movie lacked the smarts that went over most of their heads when they watched the show. They were just happy to have their very own film event to drag their boyfriends to, and have the chance to draw just as much attention to themselves in their H&M dresses and knock-off Chanel shoes as any hobbit or a Jedi might.

It was then that I realized, while this movie prioritized new outfits in every scene over its botched character arc and possibly racist undertones, maybe I was wrong to judge an event sequel that couldn't possibly be compared to itself as the cable series spring chicken whose relevance was timely and limited. Secretly looking forward to the opening of this shitbox as much as anybody else, I distinctly remembered that I also saw Spiceworld on its first day.

In short, everyone must go through life to learn that one valuable lesson: your most important relationship is with the summer franchise blockbuster you'd cut off your left arm to see before anyone else does. "


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