Directed by Michael Patrick King.
Everyone’s favourite show about three hookers and their mum makes its second cinema outing in this fun story of sex, shoes and the sand of Abu Dhabi. While the first Sex and the City was a fantastic film that balanced real-life drama with the sassy comedy that the TV show was so famous for, this sequel is a less-than-serious affair which lacks energy, misfires too often and is as insubstantial as Sarah Jessica Parker’s lunch. The film is so poorly put together that it should make you want to take a Manolo to your eye, but oddly, it is entertaining enough to warrant a viewing.
Two years on from Carrie’s marriage to Big (Chris Noth), the writer finds herself in danger of falling into the ‘boring married couple’ category, and she’s got a point. Life is quite unbearable for her: she lives in a luxury apartment in NYC, has to go to restaurants when she wants food, and spends her evenings at plush,gay weddings and film premieres. Quite frankly, the only thing Carrie has any right to be annoyed about is the growth on her face, more commonly known as a nose. Anyway, while Carrie turns into a crazy, bitch-wife, her three bezzies have more important problems. Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is suffering from sexism at work, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) can’t control her screaming kids and busty Irish nanny, and Samantha (the always brilliant Kim Cattrall) is finding that trying to stay young is more difficult than wearing Louboutins on cobbles in a hurricane.
The first hour of the film, which highlights and attempts to explore these problems, is fine. The zingers keep on coming, and the girls are as recognisable as when we left them in 2008. The opening wedding scene of Stanford and Anthony is OTT, with Liza Minnelli making a cameo to sing Single Ladies, but it is never cringeworthy – just good old harmless fun. There are a few odd creative decisions, namely that the men in the film are never given anything more to do than gawp and shrug, while scenes involving Miley Cyrus and Penelope Cruz just add to the already sprawling running time.
The failings come when Samantha is offered a trip to Abu Dhabi with the girls, and while the film is still funny enough from this point (mainly because of Cattrall), the domestic problems of the opening act are cruelly dropped in favour of lavish houmous-engorged breakfasts (how do the girls not put on a few stone?) and casual xenophobia. The film cannot decide whether it is a tourist video for the UAE (Miranda spouts Arabic knowledge like a Lonely Planet guide) or a hey-look-they’re-different-over-here culture shock romp. The result is that the lavish, product placement-ridden Arabian settings seem over-egged, and the girls’ comments about Middle Eastern women just darn inappropriate. When Carrie is shocked that a woman in a burkha can eat chips, or Charlotte is worried about checking-in to the hotel with her Jewish surname, we do not laugh, but merely ponder how unnecessary it all is.
That said, the film is never really that offensive, just sadly misjudged sometimes. There are a few very nice moments of touching drama, but this and the potentially good basic premise of exploring the voice of woman (epitomised by a well made karaoke scene) is buried under the sandstorm of pratfalls and East/West differences. The last 20 minutes, while not being venomous enough to be considered racist, are just plain silly, and only serve to show how, despite being almost two and a half hours long, the film is full of nothing.
Much more could be said, but ultimately the biggest crime (apart from those against fashion – at one point Carrie wears the black crown last seen on Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty) is taking the characters out of New York. The bustling city is the fifth girl in the gang and allows Carrie and Co to be free sexually and culturally. Changing from The Big Apple to The Big Camel sucks the excitement of the city out of them, and we can only expect that the franchise will lie gathering more dust than the desert after this nice but tired effort.
Cheeky little error headline error there.
I haven't seen the film as of yet, albeit I concur with Rob that taking the girls out of New York was a flagrant error. Rob's points are fair, but he is male and so while he is more objective than Sex's diehards on giving probable reasons why the film has amassed lukewarm and scathing reviews, he isn't the targeted audience member making him less likely to 'get it'.
elle, that is the most ridiculous comment I've heard for a while.
Although I agree that some of the scenes in the film (Miranda and Charlotte discussing hired help for example) have no connection to a lot of young males such as myself, they probably have nothing to do with you either. Tell me, when was the last time you were struggling with two kids and a job?
Just because I have a penis does not mean that I am automatically incapable of reading the female psyche. While I am a straight male and am less likely to 'connect' with the film, I'd be a pretty shoddy film reviewer if I could only give a good opinion on films that are aimed at me. My job is to judge as a 'film', and not impose my values onto it.
The general consensus on this film from male and female critics alike has been very similar. Even Heat magazine picked up the same flaws as me. Oh, and for the record, I thought the first SATC film was brilliant, and I am a fan of the series.
But what do I know? I am but a useless man…
You go girl!
"show about three hookers and their mum" – Don't steal your jokes from Family Guy – it's lame
I read that as a knowing reference, not a stolen joke. It's a kind of 'if you get it you're in the club' type thing.