Sunday, June 01, 2008
In this Issue..., Movies, Reviews
Girls on film
‘SATC’ movie doesn’t fully capture the joy of ‘Sex’
Kristin Davis, Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon and Kim Cattrall in “Sex and the City”
CREDIT: Photos/Craig Blankenhorn/New Line Cinema
“SEX AND THE CITY”
Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis, Cynthia Nixon
Directed by Michael Patrick King
Rated R
Wide release
By Blane Bachelor
Full disclosure: I’m an unabashed “Sex and the City” fan. I never tire of the reruns on TBS, even though I can recite every line. I cherish my pink felt-encased DVD series collection—a 30th birthday present from my mom—like a child does his first bike. And while writing my own dating column for The Sunday Paper, I always took it as a compliment when somebody referred to me as the “Carrie Bradshaw of Atlanta.”
But when talk of a movie surfaced after the beloved show ended its six-year run on HBO, I was skeptical. There were initial rumors of bickering among the cast members. And the series had gone out on top—why not leave well enough alone? Even as the hype escalated this spring, what with the talk show appearances, bars pushing Cosmopolitan specials and thousands of devotees squealing over girlfriend-only viewings months in advance, it was impossible not to wonder whether a sub-par movie would taint the delicious legacy that our four favorite Manolo-wearing, man-bashing Manhattan women had created.
That legacy is precisely where the big-screen “Sex and the City” starts off. Writer/director Michael Patrick King establishes familiar territory early by weaving brief character bios into the opening credits. Obviously, the only people in the audience who need any filling in are dragged-along boyfriends, but the clever sequence nevertheless manages to evoke nostalgia for the fabulous foursome.
And in the four years since we’ve last seen them, we soon discover that the dynamics have shifted: Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) has dropped her sex column and now has three books under her belt; Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and husband Harry (Evan Handler) have adopted an adorable little Chinese girl; and sexpot Samantha (Kim Cattrall) has shipped off to Los Angeles to manage the career of her brutally hot young lover, Smith Jerrod (Jason Lewis). Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), who’s still juggling a husband, a 5-year-old, a high-powered legal career and a delusional mother-in-law in Brooklyn (and still sporting the schlumpiest look of all four cast members), seems the least changed.
That is, until a betrayal throws an unexpected wrench into her world—and an early twist into the plot. Another shocker soon follows (don’t worry, no spoilers here), and suddenly all the flash and flesh take a backseat to themes of self-reflection and forgiveness.
From there, the pace feels like that of a cab stuck in rush-hour traffic. King is an undisputed master of brilliant dialogue and plotlines easily packaged into 30-minute slots. But it’s an entirely different challenge to keep things fresh and exciting for the duration of a movie—one that stretches to 142 minutes, at that. More than once I found myself rolling my eyes at the same tired storylines: Samantha’s sexual antics, Charlotte’s Pollyanna mothering (does she really have to bring her daughter to almost every girl-bonding session?) and—of course—the eternal push-and-pull between Carrie and Mr. Big (oh, please—you already know they’re not answering that one until the very end).
There are a few distractions, of course: the gratuitous product placement, for one, from Vitamin Water to Swarovski-crystal-studded bling to the predictable Manolos. In an attempt to connect with legions of younger fans, King brings aboard celebrated newcomer Jennifer Hudson as Carrie’s twentysomething, techno-savvy personal assistant, though the Oscar winner doesn’t seem capable of generating much more than a constant blank stare. There’s enough mildly graphic sex to generate an R-rating, with Nixon—not Cattrall—getting the only full nude scene (all the more intriguing knowing that, since the series ended, Nixon has become seriously involved with a woman.) And, of course, there are the clothes: elegant, outrageous and unforgettable, thanks to the return of legendary costume designer Patricia Field.
All of that isn’t enough to compensate for a plot that ultimately falls flat, but eternal fans will nevertheless delight in what emerges as a continuing theme from the series: the enduring power of good girlfriends. During a recent press screening, I seemed to be the only woman sitting alone, without a pack of female pals or a Stanford Blatch stand-in, and it was a little lonely. And just like I felt after every episode, I left the theater craving the company of my best girlfriends—the kind so dear and true that they’d drop everything and join you in Mexico for a post-breakup recovery, or get out of a warm bed on a snowy New Year’s Eve to give you a hug or tell you the truth when it’s most difficult but most needed. In that respect, “Sex and the City” succeeds in filling some pretty big stilettos. 2.5 STARS