Sex and the City 2

It's never a good sign when the announcement of a sequel inspires a groan rather than a squeal. I accepted the first movie for what it was—an excuse to revisit old friends and finally marry that reluctant bride Carrie off. It had its moments. See review here.

But I was done. As much as I enjoyed the show, the big screen wasn't doing it any favors. So it was with a heavy heart that I processed the fact that another one was on its way. Now that it has arrived, I'd beg and plead for the cast and crew to stop killing a show that was cherished by so many.

The film starts with a wedding between Stanford and Anthony. The only gay recurring characters so they naturally could only find happiness with each other—the characters' series-long hatred of each other somehow forgotten. I can't bear to go into detail about the scenes at the wedding but to note that they descend into ridiculous camp (Oh hey, Liza) way too quickly. The wedding serves to push the plot that every couple is different and can make up its own rules. This leads to the revelation that Big has become a bit of a homebody as the years have progressed and this upsets Carrie. The solution (according to Big) is to separate from his wife for two days a week. Now, we've watched Carrie and Big for 12 years. I just don't buy that this is an actual problem in their relationship. They have both put each other through the ringer and now their be-all end-all problem is that Big bought a TV for their anniversary and not a ridiculous piece of jewelry? Be happy he didn't buy you a bejeweled duck purse again.

Meanwhile Miranda is suffering under a chauvinist boss, Charlotte is realizing her quest for kids comes with a heavy price (a ruined vintage Valentino to be specific) and Samantha has actually regressed as a character into a full on caricature of her season one self. In the guise of shaking things up, Samantha sets up an all-expenses paid trip to Abu Dhabi. What an idea? Let's put these girls in the Middle East. Hilarity! Hijinks!

What really happens is a complete disrespect of a culture much older than ours. Somehow as long as the shoulders are covered (or one shoulder in Carrie's case), the breasts must be able to heave freely. I had read that the filmmakers’ goal with the film was a complete fantasy. Extravagant clothes, cars and fun. What's missing is any sense of caring for the characters or feeling anything but appalled at how this franchise has devolved into such a materialistic charade. Sure, clothes, shoes and shopping were a part of the TV show. But, in my opinion, a very small part of what made the show great. It was the relationship between these four women playing off their individual relationships with their respective others that kept my interest during six seasons. The first movie at least showed actual emotion—Carrie breaking down in the bathroom after being jilted at the alter. I felt nothing of the sort this time around. Even when my personal favorite of the many men (Aiden) shows up to ogle. The closest it came to showing anything real is after Charlotte, ignoring her kids while on the phone, is the victim of red paint on her vintage skirt. She shuts herself into the pantry for one moment of escape and tears. I have no kids, but I can imagine many mothers might have these breakdowns at some point. Though it's unclear if she's more upset about her skirt being ruined than the hardships of being a mother.

A long made defense of the movies (and the show to some extent) is that they are just silly fun. That's fine. I had a "good" time watching it. I had a great night out with an old friend with the hope of watching some other old friends. It's only later when I think about where this franchise has taken us that the disappointment washes over me . As a fan of the show, I'll again pray that these movies are done. Let the show rest in peace and on DVD where better writing and emotion can stay safe. You won't find it in this film. You'll just witness the sad fact that whatever joy that was once found in watching these women has been squeezed out by a desire to sell products—be it an HP computer or marriage itself.