At the Movies: "Sex and the City"

I saw Sex and the City tonight, prompted by the need to be in touch with the zeitgeist as well as a glowing review in the San Francisco Chronicle.  The Times bashed it, so opinions are mixed. 

From the Chronicle review, by Mick LaSalle: "[T]he best American movie about women so far this year...The mature vibe shows that 'Sex and the City' is elastic and capable of bringing in new elements of women's experience."

From the Times review, by Manohla Dargis: "[T]he pits, a vulgar, shrill, deeply shallow...addendum to a show that had, over the years, evolved and expanded in surprising ways."

[People who want to know whether Carrie finally marries Mr. Big should read this excellent discussion in Slate.]

It is definitely vulgar. A truly obnoxious recurring bit involves Samantha's dog, who humps everything in sight feverishly (as a symbol for Samatha's voracious sexual appetite.)

It's also quasi-pornographic, at least in the LA scenes (where Samantha has decamped). Samantha shamelessly watches her beefcake neighbor get it on with a new woman (or women) every night.

And of course it's materialistic and flashy.  There are lots of stale one-liners to boot.

All this said, it's not quite the pits.  For amidst all these shortcomings, there are compelling stories about the power of friendship (especially under strain) and the redemption of romantic relationships.  Miranda and Steve struggle to save their marriage.  Samantha comes to terms with the fact that no monogamous relationship is right for her.  Miranda and Samantha deeply care for Carrie after yet another disastrous round with Mr. Big.  And Charlotte (the least developed of the four in this film) mostly serves as comic relief.

One of Dargis's critiques is that the men in the film are eye-candy, nothing more. She's right (especially about Samantha's Lothario-like neighbor, who is absurdly named Dante).  Of course, many movies objectify women.  What's so bad about turning the tables for once? 

Well, two wrongs don't make a right.  There's a lot of wasted time on male objectification in the film, and product placements run amok.

So if Sex and the City were 90 minutes long and focused on the stories more than the frills (although the frills are part of the fun, of course), it would be much better.  Wait for Netflix, because there's no need to rush.