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Sex in the City 2 Review

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Sex In The City 2


R 120 min



I just did LETTERS TO JULIET a mediocre but inoffensive little romantic comedy, IOW a “chick flick.”

So as the wheel of fate turns the big seller of the holiday is another of the genre but it’s quite different.

For one it’s not mediocre; it’s terrible. Not to mention it’s plenty offensive and not very funny.

I’ve seen an episode or two of the HBO series, and admit that I wasn’t thrilled.

I guess you need to empathize with one of the four main characters.

There’s Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) a high maintenance hotshot writer trying to balance a new marriage with the jet set lifestyle she’s used to.

Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is a high power attorney thwarted at every turn by the chauvinistic good old boys network.

Charlotte (Kristin Your) is a wealthy little yap dog of a woman struggling to cope with her noisy pair of adopted kids.

Last but not least is Samantha (Kim Cattrall) a publicist and a loud-mouthed floozy.

So basically the entire film is a series of situations in which to highlight the personality traits of all these women. Got it.

We start with a spectacularly grand gay wedding. Personally I have no gripe with gay marriage if that’s what two people want to do but this scene is so over the top in stereotypes one wonders where the PC police are.

Anyway that’s just a time killer before the main thrust kicks in.

It seems Samantha has wrangled a fabulously extravagant vacation to Abu Dhabi for her and her pals.

You may wonder how this colorful bunch will make out in the land of sand dunes, camels and burgas will make out and you’d be right. They don’t. In fact the whole thing devolves into a slapstick fiasco when Samantha gropes some fellows, er, package in a public restaurant and the girls have to high tail it out of the Middle East chased by a throng of angry Muslims.

The finale itself revolves around Carrie, who, after kissing an old boyfriend is so tortured by guilt that it almost ruins her marriage.

Hey wait, isn’t this the chick that’s hit the sack with half the men in New York City since the show aired? Oh well. Hubby Chris Noth, once a notorious philanderer is now, how you say, PW.

At the end of it all, friends, this is a bad movie no matter which set of genitalia you have.

To paraphrase Helen Reddy, “I am woman; hear me snore.”



Email westsidesteve@aol.com

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