On May 27, 2010 (just in time for the big Memorial Day weekend), a revolutionary event will be transpiring in the lives of most contemporary women in North America: The sequel to Sex and The City 1 will be opening all across the country! Now, I don’t mean to mock this watershed moment looming over us women like a mighty colossus. I was a huge fan of the TV show–I even watched it in syndication and probably have seen every episode in both its uncensored and censored glory. I think Candace Bushnell, who wrote the book from which the show is conceived, is our modern-day equivalent to Jane Austen–a savvy and barbed dissector of the ever shifting and uncertain nuances of the dating rat race. As seen from the perspective of the four memorable and indelible characters–Samantha, the promiscuous but ferociously independent publicist; Charlotte, the dewy-eyed romantic and eternal optimist; Miranda, the brittle and tart-tongued Harvard-educated lawyer; and our narrator, Carrie, the constantly inquiring and curious sex columnist–the TV show brilliantly captured the ever precarious dynamics between men and women as they all vie for that elusive topping of the American dream–the perfect mate.

I am not a shoe addict like Carrie: It has never been a priority of mine to totter around in Manhattan in overpriced Jimmy Choo stilletos; nor do I sleep with men with the same spontaneous, clothes-disrobing brio of Samantha; and I admit as I get increasingly older, it’s hard to wax as dreamy-eyed about romance as Charlotte, but I related to much of the romantic trials and travails experienced by these single women (before the last few years when apparently it was mandated by either HBO or the creators or both that these women needed to be matched up, family-ready or else they would be forever consigned to the–gasp–dung heap of tragic spinsterhood) to such an extent, that very often I would view a new episode of Sex and The City as a cinema verite glimpse into my own life. Sure, I might not have had the money to buy $500 Manolo Blahniks like Carrie, but at least
I could find something in each episode instantly recognizable to something that I might have observed or experienced in my own dating life. So when it was announced that there would be a Sex and The City movie, I was not only brimming with excitement but you guessed it–I ran like gangbusters to my local movie house a few days before the movie opened Memorial Day weekend 2008 to buy a ticket to the shows that were already selling out.

Did I like the movie? No, not really. Yes, it was refreshing to see the four characters (and the wonderful actresses who brought them to life in the TV show) on the 50-foot wide screen but the movie was no longer relatable to me. To quote Roger Friedman (a critic/gossip columnist), the show, which had been a shrewd diary of the romantic lives of three 30-something and one 40-something women in New York city, had degenerated into a shallow and superficial “Neiman Marcus catalog on steroids.” It was all about name-dropping and product placements. And the fashion parade was unending. Also, for a movie that seemed overly enamored with its own pretentious hipness, the film was very dated in the not-too-subtle message it was conveying to women: -Forget about your personal or professional identity, the only thing that counts in life is to have a man (and a huge bank account). Without either accessory, you may as well…be forgotten or dead.

Only Miranda and Carrie had stories–the other two did not. (I don’t consider Charlotte’s Montezuma’s revenge to be a story). And except for Steve, Miranda’s nice guy/blue collar bar-owner husband and Mr. Big, Carrie’s love interest, the men were either subsidiary or extras. (I don’t even remember if Charlotte’s husband Harry had a line). The script was a mess–just like Carrie’s ugly Vivienne Westwood wedding dress. (And by the way, you can always tell when a wedding will not happen–either on a TV show or in a movie–by the sheer ugliness of the wedding dress; if it’s an eyesore, the nuptials will never happen; if it’s beautiful, they will). And call me cruel and shallow, I couldn’t help but be distracted by Chris Noth’s obvious and bad facelift–you know, the kind where the eyebrows are stretched into the forehead, creating a permanently startled expression.

Let’s hope the sequel will be better. I did hear a scoop that already doesn’t bode too well (at least for me). Warning–spoiler disclosed: Apparently, some of the movie was filmed in…Dubai. Now why a show that had showcased its main location, New York City, as one of its star players, is now featuring Dubai (???!!!!) in its movie version, absolutely befuddles me. I don’t get it. But hey, I’ll find out on May 27 when the movie opens. Let me know your thoughts on the movie. What are you looking forward to seeing in the upcoming film? What did you like and dislike about the first movie?

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