Vicky and I just got back from seeing the third-trimester abortion that is Sex and the City: The Movie. To say it’s awful surely shows disrespect for such monstrosities as The Love Guru. That said, I spend two and a half hours of my life trying to decide just how to describe this “movie” and here is that description:
Sex and the City is like watching a small room crowded with fat, sweaty homosexuals masturbate to reruns of That Girl. Only, they never cum. Episode after episode passes like distended colon while they continue to masturbate, getting sweatier, jiggling fat, while you’re forced to watch.
I didn’t like it.
At the end of the day, this movie is nothing more than a militaristic, selfish, self-absorbed attempt to blame men for everything, even when it’s not their fault. Look, men are fucked up – I’ll grant you that. But this movie doesn’t even have the sense to aim for the big things, like war and global warming. Everything else, though, is open game. If a woman gains weight, it’s a man’s fault. If she lets herself look like shit – man’s fault. Neglects her husband – man’s fault. Acts completely irrational – man’s fault.
Meanwhile, the biggest fault I could find was in the man in my shoes – for wasting money on that that garbage pailed fetus of a film.
Probably won’t be buying the DVD…