Sex and the City

Jun 09, 2008
Whit Bernard

Admit it: if you are planning on going to see this movie, no negative review is going to stop you. Sex and the City, now syndicated around the world and long a top-seller on DVD, is tantamount to religion among a huge swath of global consumers. A recent trip to the Forum Cinemas in Riga, where all the Saturday night showings were sold out, indicates that the Baltic is no exception. You’re going to go because, well, it’s Sex and the City, and as embarrassed as you might be to admit it, you’re an addict.

Who could blame you? Not only was the television series smart, witty, and oh-so-apropos, it delivered a predictable weekly escape into another world – one where cash and cosmos flow freely, glamour is effortless, and juicy gossip abounds. Even when you couldn’t help but question the shallow, morally vapid universe in which the four main characters seemed to live, you slurped up that voyeuristic vantage point above the lunch table with a private smile, and more than a little lust to join in the fray.

The currency the show traded in was desire, and the exchanges typically took place at that magical place where all good things begin and end: the body. No, not just sex… also fashion, and an addiction to consumption that would be problematic were it not for the inexplicable wealth of all four characters (the only show with a more laughable socioeconomic premise was Friends, which featured gorgeous Upper West Side apartments despite the fact that, as far as I could tell, only two of the main characters were ever employed). And then there was the potentially debilitating fear of getting fat – another issue that would undoubtedly lead to darker places were it not for a tendency among the show’s writers to block out all but the most frivolous of concerns.

That said, many fans rightly acknowledge that despite its uncritical embrace of all that Mammon has to offer, the show did take on some difficult issues (cancer, starting families, dealing with infidelity and erectile disfunction, etc.). It demonstrated the importance of strong friendships and provided models of female independence, serving as a kind of bastion of Third Wave Feminism for the independently wealthy.

But the movie spurns these poignant and periodically socially relevant themes in favor of that much more Dior. The brilliantly developed characters, the faint glimmers of ironic realism amidst the glitter, and the moments of emotional depth narrated by a sometimes articulate Carrie, are all forgotten in a 145-minute haze of sex, shopping, stupid alliterations (“The two L’s: Labels and Love…”) and sappy, disingenuous moments of lukewarm tenderness.

In other words, the writers seem to have successfully thrown out the baby and kept every drop the bathwater. Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha are shallower, even indistinguishable at times, and all efforts are spared in developing them. Meanwhile the narrative, which is hardly as arresting as the tight plots of the shorter-format shows, seems to subvert every possible emotionally significant moment with a superficial purchase. Carrie marks her friendship with her new assistant, who has helped her get back on track after a rough break-up, with the presentation of a Louis Vuitton bag (the assistant, an African-American from St. Louis, had previously been relegated to the inhumane practice of renting designer accessories). Samantha comes to grips with her desire to reclaim her sexual freedom by buying a pillow-humping terrier. Mr. Big demonstrates his commitment to sharing his life with Carrie by building her a bowling alley-sized walk-in closet. The list goes on. And on. One is reminded of George W. Bush’s rejoinder to a shocked, grieving populace after the 9/11 terrorist attacks: “go out and support your local retailer.”

The only real reason to see this film is to have the chance to inhabit the superficial fairytale of an imagined, idealized New York for one hundred and forty-five minutes. Perhaps that is reason enough to go. You’ll also receive some fairly sophisticated instruction in how best to support the American economy with the bare minimum of effort. But don’t expect anything more or less than a half-witted slog through the mostly petty lives of four characters who aren’t quite what they once were. Hardly a fitting elegy for the show that so many of us came (openly or not) to love.

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