Sugar and Syrup With Added Sweetners: SATC2 Review




Please do not read this if you haven’t seen the film and want to, because I’m about to tell you what happens. Do not read this if your are an undying fan of the TV series and will not hear anything bad said against it. Do not read if you’re not even sure, but for me the new. Film. Bombed.  

Photo: HBO Films / Village Roadshow Pictures


It had little to no plotline. The laughs (save a few) were predictable and cheesy. The characters were totally two-dimensional, despite having had room to develop over an entire TV series and the first film. The stereotyping was totally out of control, reachin unprecedented levels of misogyny and racism, and the amount of wealth flaunted throughout left a queasy feeling in your stomach, not flutterings of jealousy and awe it was supposed to inspire. The main story of Carrie and Big wanting to maybe have some days apart each week was drawn out and dull, like, ow, I’ve been sitting on my bum in this seat a hella long time, look round the cinema a few too many times, dull. And it all started so promisingly; there was the shocker of the wedding between Charlotte and Carrie’s GBFs who supposedly hated each other, replete with Liza Minelli singing Beyoncé and swans, but the whole thing was over with within the first fifteen minutes. And yes, as the spoiler pictures told us, you did get to glimpse the 80s selves of each character, but glimpse was all, as they never returned, so the pictures really were spoliers after all.   

Photo: HBO Films / Village Roadshow Pictures


From there on in it was downhill, with most of it being Carrie and Big arguing over nothing, and not even proper arguing anyway. While in the first film there was Charlotte’s pregnancy, Miranda’s motherhood and marriage, and Samantha’s stuggle between lifestyle and age, here they were all but 3-D props to Carrie’s life. The possibility of Charlotte’s huband cheating with the bra-less Irish nanny (cue fiddle-dee-dee muic) was totally undeveloped. In fact, all the conflicts in the film between friends or lovers were practically tearless and all made better a bit too quickly; one distant-eyed smile and you’re fine with your huband staring at the live-in nanny’s wet breasts because she just so happens to be gay. And Carrie kissed Aiden, but she only kissed him and Big forgave her immediately and promptly bought her a diamond (thank God, because it would have added hours onto the painful experience). There really wasn’t much to think about other than the clothes and soft furnishings; who knows maybe that’s what life beyond your thirties is like.  

Photo: HBO Films / Village Roadshow Pictures


SATC, if not all American TV culture, can be cheesy even at its best. Cheesy like a big ole cheeseburger, but we like it for the same fatty but slightly comforting reasons. This film? Dripped with cheese. You could see the one-liners coming like a McDonald’s delivery truck; it didn’t help at all that the characters themselves have become parodies of themselves. As the Sex saga has developed, they have become gone from four main type to actual stereotypes of women and its boring; girl-next-door Barbie, good-girl Barbie, temptress Barbie and career-woman Barbie have been taken out of their boxes and been given the abiliy to walk and talk. A scene that could have been poignant between Charlotte and Miranda discussing the hardships of motherhood became a slapstick drinking game, and Samantha getting arrested for shagging on a beach in the Abu Dhabi? A monkey could have thought of that.  

Photo: HBO Films / Village Roadshow Pictures


The entire Middle East thing was far to drawn out and was crawling wih racial stereotyping. Servile Arabs who simply smile at their hardship in life? Check. Exotic climes provoking lust in white Westerners? Check. Thronging markets with spice and pointy shoes and kindly street sellers fluent in English? Check. (Why in God’s name was Carrie so surprised tht in the Third World, shoes cost as little as $20?) Veiled repressed women who long to be Western and free? Check. Arabic man asking “Er, how ees eet you say in Eegleesh?”? Check! And the scene were Muslim women who make a living from selling dried flowers and cannot seem to afford to go to New York wearing brand new Louis Vuitton and Valentino under their burkas was painful to watch! When would that ever happen sems to obvious to even ask! It was clearly sending a message that all women, even if you wear a black sheet, want to be Carrie Bradshaw. Funny kind of fucking sisterhood if you ask me.  

SJP in Alexander McQueen and Phillip Treacy, Kristin Davis in Norman Norrell, Kim Cattral in Thierry Mugler and Cynthia Nixon in Narciso Rodriguez (REX)


According to Hilary Alexander, “The red carpet, in fact, looked to be much more fun than the film itself which is long on trite tedium and short on plot, style and wit.” Miaow! Allow us to present our rockin’ red carpet gallery. 

Rachael Stevens in Temperley (REX)



Peaches Geldof in Matthew Williamson (REX)


Kyle Minogue in Gucci (REX)


Anouke Lepere in Peter Pilotto (REX)


Alexandra Burke (REX)


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