Ruining a Good Thing (SATC Spoilers!!)

I feel as though I should warn readers that there are spoilers in the post below, but really, I would rather do a public service and warn readers that the movie is spoiled and waaaay past it's expiration date.

I saw "Sex and The City 2" today with a friend.  I won't waste any time here...IT SUCKED.  That's right, I hated it.  Some small part of me knew that I would, I mean I can't think of one single movie that was better as a sequel...except "Young Guns 2", but that's it.  Christ, when did these women become so....so...so....stupid?  I figured it would be over the top, with the Abu Dhabi fiasco and all; but basically, this movie melted these four fabulous characters into ugly, albeit colorful, puddles of their former cool iconic selves.  And, as I sat in the theatre (for an UNCOMFORTABLE 2 and a half hours) listening to the full on laughter of my peers, I realized why I have very few female friends.  People who fall prey to the easy laugh technique get on my last nerve.  My best friend loved the movie, and was disappointed to hear that I hated it, and she is the exception to the last nerve rule.  But, Liza Minnelli's dementia is not a laughing matter.  Neither is pissing off the Taliban.  And, for the love of God...the word "labia"....not funny.  I am perfectly capable of suspending my disbelief.  I am capable of buying into a plot.  When there is one.  Sex and The City should have gotten it's tubes tied after the first one and left well enough alone.

When did Charlotte get Progeria?  How did she go from being a mature and capable woman to a dithering child like idiot in so little time without the benefit of either illicit drug use or psychosis?  Of course she has a nanny, she can't string two coherent thoughts together so how could she raise children?  Actually, SHE needs a nanny.  I remember Charlotte from the series as being slightly naive and puritanical...not borderline retarded.  Also, when did she lose the ability to walk?  In almost every scene, she is scuttling around like a toddler whose ankles are tied together.  Hippity hopping along, requiring the guidance of her 3 caretakers.  She even had to be directed to sip her liquid courage to be able to admit that motherhood is difficult.  She stood up to Bunny McDougal, for God's sake and now she can't even get her shit together to pack for her return trip back without the guidance of the formerly hot now just sad Samantha.

Samantha.  The once hot and ballsy woman has now melted into a hot mess.  The sweating.  The bitching.  The moaning.  The sweating.  Sam, dear, hang up your labia...it's over.  That's swell that you are fifty two years old, but you are older than Sally O'Malley and you need to KICK start your retirement.  I see that menopause cost Samantha her final shred of dignity.  Oh, and how evolved of Sam to invite the douche who kicked her to the curb at the first sound of "Allah Akbar!" to the Hamptons to continue their sad romp.  Sam should have been a little more grateful that the video of her caning (or worse) wasn't sent to the international news outlets.  Whoring around NYC is one thing, whoring around the Middle East is another altogether.  Her tantrum in the market, complete with condoms and runny mascara, made me realize why the Middle East hates American women. Just another bawdy and dangerous way of saying our way is the only way.  I was embarassed FOR her, and it struck me as odd that someone so worldly wouldn't understand the danger she was putting her 3 friends into with this scene.  But, I have always said about the feeble minded, the mind isn't the first thing to go...it's actually the clothes.  Someone should have put this sweaty sack of years out of her misery.  And that someone should have been Carrie, who apparently forgot to pack her impulse control.

Carrie.  Sweet fallable Carrie.  I felt so bad for Carrie Bradshaw when she arrived in Mexico in the first movie.  She looked like death, and I felt her pain.  But, the impossible happened, and Carrie ended up with her man, Mr. Big.  And the pissing and moaning soon followed.  I wanted to rescue Chris Noth and transport him away from these hens.  Carrie keeps her old apartment...as a "writing" space.  Um hmmm.  It is the same ol song and dance.  She can't commit.  Cannot do it to save her life.  She gets free reign to design and furnish a luxury apartment.  She gets to keep  her old "Single Gal" space that she can return to whenever she wants for however long she wants.  She has the most handsome man in NYC (hands down) in her lavishly outfitted bed each night.  What's the gotdamned problem?  Oh, right, she wants more.  And more.  And more still. And then some more.  Mr. Big wants to watch "Deadliest Catch" after an evening out on the town with the four horsewomen and it's bitch bitch bitch.  AND THEN!! Aiden.  Sweet granola Aiden.  Like an elixir to all of her woes.  For a minute.  Then it's on to something else.  The thinly veiled attempt at being upfront with Mr Big (or Mr Carrie, as it seemed) was actually Carrie shaking the sugar tree.  Was it necessary for her to call her husband, from 6700, miles away to inform him that she kissed an old lover?  No.  Carrie placed that call in the hopes that Big would show up for her, like he always does.  She should have kept that to herself and considered herself lucky that she got out of it with only a kiss.  Couldn't leave well enough alone though, had to try to give Ol Big a big heart attack (remember his history of cardiac issues).  I bet if Mr. Big had dropped the phone and went into a full seize, Carrie would have complained that he didn't do it correctly.  This is precisely why men are so reluctant to get married.  And Carrie Bradshaw is ruining it for the rest of us that would be happy with a TV in the bedroom for an anniversary gift.
Miranda really could have stepped up here and educated Carrie on the damage of infidelity, but she had to babysit Charlotte.

Actually, Miranda was the only bright spot in the movie.  I always had a love/hate thing with her character, not really wanting to be able to relate, but relating to her most of all (admit it, everyone wants to be Carrie and everyone fashions their quiz answers to reflect that on those stupid facebook quizzes).  Miranda was the calm in the storm of self indulgent entitlement.  At first, I figured she was going to join the rest of the crew in sitting around bitching about all that is wrong in her life; but no.  Miranda shut that shit down within the first 15 minutes.  All that was wrong was that she didn't like her new boss, so she quit.  Easy peasy.  I never thought I would say this, but Miranda actually turned out to be the prettiest one (in my opinion), not showing her age nor her immaturity.  She saw that her priorities were out of order, so she rearranged them.  Without long litanies of blaaaah blaaaaah blaaaaah.  My only complaint with her character in this movie is that during the scene where she and Charlotte were having a drink and Miranda was trying to draw Charlotte out to discuss the difficulties of motherhood, Miranda should have slapped her silly and handed her an issue of Grow Up magazine.  I have no beef with Miranda.

Or Stanford.  Or Mr. Big.  Or Steve.  Charlotte's bald dancing baby husband needed a swift kick in the ass for the wet t-shirt scene, but other than that they all just assumed their roles of irrelevance with the white bread blandness that showcased the train wreck they were hired to spotlight.  The movie broke my heart.  "Sex and the City" was such a fresh show, because it was real.  But, in movie form, it has become an over the top caricature of it's formerly awesome self.  I am an optimistic woman who enjoys checking out of reality for a couple of hours, just as much as the next gal.  I'm no prude, by any stretch.  But, much as I enjoy an escape, I hate to be insulted.  And I found "Sex and The City" to be an insulting time waster, so much so that after they wheeled an obviously lost and confused Liza Minnelli out to do Beyonce's "Single Ladies", I didn't want to put a ring on it. 

I wanted to put a lid on it.