Sex and the City 2

In conclusion: This is the worst movie I’ve ever seen.

No, I’ll keep going about that. But I wanted to be upfront about my hatred. It’s a bold statement, considering that the previously-held title in my eyes was Almost Heroes, starring Matthew Perry and Chris Farley. Do not watch that one, either.

Okay, onto this piece of shit. First of all, I am furious that SJP and MPK and the rest of these hooligans were so selfish that they needed to drag this previously perfect franchise into the realm of the big screen. Sex and the City was not meant for the movies, ever, and while I enjoyed the first movie, I certainly could have done without it. This one was just a self-masturbatory clusterfuck of sand and harem pants and gay jokes and Botox. I know I complained about Avatar being too long at 3 hours, but I’m giving it a little credit now for at least being visually stunning. SATC 2 was two and a half hours. That’s just stupid.

I don’t even know where to begin with this thing. Nearly very scene was contrived, nearly every line of dialogue was nothing like the show, every outfit was over-the-top, and every makeup job somehow managed to emphasize how much these four beautiful women have aged. Those two “nearlys” I just noted deserve some explanation, I know. What I mean is that, for the most part, the scenes and lines in this movie felt like a movie (to paraphrase my best friend Anna). Big spouted off sexually-charged cheesy one-liners like they were going out of style, Carrie gave them right back, Samantha’s innuendos weren’t even remotely clever, and… man, I don’t even feel like talking about it anymore. All I know is that the decent moments—i.e., Miranda and Charlotte’s heart-to-heart about motherhood, Carrie’s occasional funny quips, and Carrie’s interesting statement that she doesn’t want to end up one of those couples who sits at home and watches TV and doesn’t talk—drowned in a sea of horrible, embarrassing writing. I can’t even believe the actresses were able to get through scenes without gagging.

Oh, and, yeah… Liza Minnelli is in this movie. She does the Single Ladies dance at Stanford and Anthony’s gay gay gay gay (they mention it a lot) gay gay gay wedding. Penelope Cruz is in it too, for some dumb reason. Miley Cyrus makes an appearance. And these weirdos reach low points in their careers for SATC2 while the characters we (or maybe just I) actually care about—like Smith, Steve, Harry, and Magda—get like five seconds of screen time. Preposterous.

Also, the other offensive, juvenile stuff: the braless nanny, the “two days off” proposal, the fact that Carrie kisses Aidan and Big doesn’t even make her feel bad about it, the incredibly lavish trip that these women take in the middle of a recession, the fact that Anthony is allowed to cheat on Stanford… what has this show come to? It’s a horrible, exploited, indulgent shell of itself. I once turned to it for sympathy, understanding, comfort, laughs, tears, all of those things. Now I don’t think I can do that. Shame on you, Sex and the City, for ruining something so perfect.

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