Sooner of later even male movie reviewers who would normally avoid films like “Sex and the City” feel some sense of obligation to see what everyone is talking about literotica. I had heard that if you were a male and saw this film in a theater, you would be outnumbered 20-to-1, so I opted for a Netflix fix. About halfway through Sex and the City I said to myself, “Surely, there is a story here somewhere.” For a film that was only 2 minutes short of a 2.5-hour run, it took its merry time to do anything much more than qualify as a chick flick.
Problem one may have been that Sex and the City-based on Candace Bushnell’s book-was written, directed and produced by Michael Patrick King, who wrote and directed a ton of episodes for the popular HBO television series of the same name. It is seldom, if ever, a good idea to both write and direct a film; the big screen result is littered with big egos who have tried and failed to dominate the creative process. King is no exception.
When you are trying to write about sex and love in the Big Apple and you can do no better than use bathroom humor and some out-of-place vulgarity to warm up the audience, you are courting disaster.
Focusing on someone with poop in their panties for comedy, and slinging around the f-word inappropriately, makes you wonder what King’s personal life is like. Surely there is more writing talent here than is evident in the script.
I am into relationship films and was disappointed by this one. For one thing, the reactions of the characters are exaggerated beyond reality and appeared to lack any real, meaningful depth. In too many cases, the characters were not psychologically sound, that is, they did not associate appropriately in given situations.
A better script would have netted King better acting performances. This film had some less than heady nominations like “Best Summer 2008 Blockbuster Poster” and “Best Summer Movie So Far” (are you serious, mate?), and it garnered exactly what it deserved, zero awards.
For the eye candy part of the film, we have writer Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), three-times-a-day sex machine Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall), self-confessed happy mom and wife Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) and uptight, self-centered attorney Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon).
When these four get together, it is just a barrel of laughs and misery. I will spare you the details of the story. Suffice to say that things pretty much work themselves out in the end.
Should you want to cozy up to a bunch of over-reactionary women who are confused about a lot of things, Sex and the City is your ticket. If nothing else, you will see a fashion show with a lot of emphasis on looks and very little on substance.