LIHU‘E — It’s fun, it’s loud and it’s unapologetically lascivious. And its fans would expect nothing less. Oddly enough, there’s one element that seems new to the “Sex and the City” franchise that wasn’t there before, or at least not
LIHU‘E — It’s fun, it’s loud and it’s unapologetically lascivious. And its fans would expect nothing less.
Oddly enough, there’s one element that seems new to the “Sex and the City” franchise that wasn’t there before, or at least not as obvious: misogyny.
Granted, there is the laugh-filled, self-effacing and endearing formulaic story line that we’ve come to know and love: Lead character Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) muses vulnerably on the nature of her evolving marriage to Big (Chris North) and narrates the struggles of her friends, in typical fashion: Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) needs to find a career that gives her time for her family; Charlotte York-Goldenblatt’s (Kristin Davis) confidence is threatened when she wonders if her husband is cheating with the braless, perky Irish nanny, despite the fact that such a funny-looking bald man who managed to land a woman that attractive should never ever even dream of looking for more, and lastly, horndog Samantha (Kim Catrall) is as loyal a girlfriend as ever, sticking to her girl’s night out rather than taking a date with Lawrence of Arabia. Much of the original fun is all there, just as its die-hard followers would want.
However, I’ll take it one step further and make a statement that in itself could be interpreted not only as misogynistic, as it seems to dislike women, but a little chauvinistic as well: The women in this movie behave badly. They’re kind of embarrassing. And I’ve come to expect more from them.
It’s not just the half-witticisms they trade or the oft-contrived puns while enjoying wet lunches in the city — it’s the several scenes in the movie that make one want to sink into the chair, hand over face.
Though it’s seemingly more empowered than the first of the “Sex and the City” movies, as the women refuse to behave themselves (laudable, no doubt for fellow women’s-libbers), “Sex and the City 2” seems to demonstrate more overtly the materialistic, shallow and commitment-phobic traits of Bradshaw in particular, making her guilty of the very character flaws of which all four women accused men of back in the early days of the successful HBO series.
This is epitomized in the film when (spoiler alert) Bradshaw is rewarded with a black diamond ring for cheating on her husband (North), who says to her, “this way, you’ll remember you’re married.”
Um, didn’t the vows and the other ring already accomplish that? Since when did Carrie become so flaky?
Also disappointing and even uncomfortable to watch, is a scene when the crew is on vacation in the Middle East, a classic fish-out-of-water plotline gone uncomfortable. Instead of being funny, this is where the ladies-as-loud and unwilling to take on the rules of a foreign culture demonstrates nothing more than the isolationistic point of view that, to date, Americans have trouble living down.
This comes to a head following a scene in which Jones has been arrested for sex on a public beach, and the women are shopping in a street market. A menopausal Samantha — a somewhat-offensive, running gag throughout — refuses to put on her shirt to cover her sweating, heaving chest, and her condoms fall out of her purse in front of throngs of merchants and angry, judgmental, Middle Eastern men.
However, for those who applaud this in-your-face behavior and have come to know and love the unapologetic flagrancy of these well-dressed characters, the scene could also be interpreted as an affirmation, perhaps most aptly demonstrated by Samantha herself, as she flips all the merchants off, defending her libido with animated thrusts and obscene gestures.
What the movie does inarguably deliver on is a story that in the end glorifies tried-and-true girlfriends, unabashed and unashamed of dissing patriarchal society, living it up, American-style. The fact that it might be secretly, subconsciously contributing to that very patriarchal society is another issue altogether.
The movie ingratiates itself particularly by offering some substance captured in moments between girlfriends Miranda and Charlotte who share a poignant moment while sipping a cocktail (of course) and cheers-ing all the women in the world who don’t have nannies like they do, but still manage to survive.
In addition to its scenes that capture girlfriend-loyalty, the other service this movie provides is an apparent attempt to balance the scales by objectifying men, much like the common practice of Hollywood to objectify women.
So, if it’s a love for the four, over-the-top, dressed-to-the-hilt group of girls and their non-shrinking violet charisma that has you won over already, then perhaps inserting that story line into the backdrop of Abu Dhabi set amid burqas, and reserved, kohled eyes juxtaposed by an entire international rugby men’s team in Speedos and the desert heat is just your cup of tea.
If patronizing this film is to get your fix for supplemental time with girlfriends, better to order in and watch the HBO series with actual girlfriends in tow at home.
It seems that the earlier time in which “Sex and the City” helped voice that of the sexually-empowered, witty city woman has come and gone.
It has now taken its role as that voice too seriously.
