Sister Carrie

Though the film has surely been beaten to death by the litany of vicious critics who surface whenever a ‘chic flick’ opens, let’s begin with that impetus of rage, SEX AND THE CITY: THE MOVIE.  I very nearly violated my strict ‘no walkouts’ policy with this movie.  The film slogs its way through every mongoloid plot device writer/director Michael Patrick King could muster while delivering but one quip of dialogue that recalled the frank hilarity of the television show. “Sweetie, you shit your pants this year.  I think you’re done.”  Exactly.  

What I found to be most upsetting was the near absolute disposal of sex in the story.  Where was the empowering, dirty, honest and funny adult sex that made the show so original and groundbreaking? Buried beneath fey allusions and a girlish blush no doubt.   The issue is not about the women’s age or appearance though many noted male reviewers have been quick to denigrate their attributes.  Samantha is but a cartoon here, a sexed up Woody Woodpecker: flashy and repetitive.  Miranda is literally sexless and punished for it by her husband and her harpy best friends. Charlotte perfectly embodies a modern woman, of the Eisenhower era, and Carrie has completed her transition into a total sap.  She is capably aided and abetted by her very own Jar Jar Binks, Louise from St. Louis.  Never has a key chain provoked so much contempt.

So where now does a woman turn to find solid, knowing female characters? Pre-code Hollywood of coarse.  Stay tuned for a trip back in time to the glory days of bathtub gin, sex and misbehavin’.