I HATE YOU
Dear Sex & the City,
Wow. Just….wow. See, I got to take some “me time” today and I thought I’d see a movie. When I got to the theatre after having a lunch at Panera Bread, my only choices were your movie and seeing Shrek again. I saw Shrek with the kids on Friday and, while it’s a lovely movie, I really didn’t want to see it again. Or I could have waited an additional hour and seen Iron Man 2 or Prince of Persia – neither of which I really wanted to see. So I bit the bullet and bought my ticket.
First off, can I just comment on the other attendees in my theatre? PEOPLE. There is no reason on God’s green earth why everyone needs to sit next to each other in the theatre when there are just over a dozen people at the viewing. I was there early, got my seat with no one around me and then got annoyed as 2 people came in & sat one seat away and then a group of 4 sat right behind me & finally another group of 2 came and sat one seat away on the other side . I hate that, y’all. I cannot stand being that close to people at the movies. So, when group 3 got seated, I decided I’d rather be comfortable than polite. So I got up and moved to the neck aching seats down front. I know it sounds crazy, but I cannot stand being that close to others in a dark theatre. Of course, 2 other groups came in after the previews started and I got another couple sitting one seat away on my left, but I gave up. If you’re going to a movie and there’s plenty of seating, please, for the love of God, sit away from those already seated. It’s just polite.
Okay. Now about your “movie”. I have never, in my life, spent 2 hours with a group of people I loathe more than you. You four women are the most annoying, most selfish, most horrifying, most materialistic, most hateful people I’ve ever seen. I know – they’re only characters in a movie. However, somehow these women have become role models for us women. I didn’t think they were that annoying during the TV series, and I didn’t see the 1st movie. This was truly nauseating. I literally said, “Oh, I HATE you” about 20 times during the run of the film. Because there is absolutely nothing to recommend these women.
We open with an obscenely extravagant wedding rife with every single gay stereotype there is. A men’s choir appears, singing “If Ever I Would Leave You”, all in white, surrounded by sequins, tons of white and SWANS. Everyone’s all “could this BE any more gay? Hee hee hee!!” Shut. UP. Then who steps out to officiate the ceremony? LIZA MINNELLI. I love Liza, y’all. She did well. And her performance of “Single Ladies” was the BEST PART OF THE MOVIE. And, y’all, it was bad. Carrie performs the duties of best man in a lovely tuxedo accessorized with the ugliest, stupidest looking hair. As if Dee Snider & Michael Bolton had a wig baby. Then, because she wasn’t ugly enough, she added some moronic black lace Renaissance Faire crown which made her look even more like a horse. As if that’s possible.
The parts of the series I saw were fun in that while most viewers couldn’t possibly identify with the lives these 4 were living (buying $600 shoes, all designer label clothes, ridiculous apartments, etc), they were fun to see and not just downright vulgar. Now, however, it’s nearly impossible to watch them and their wardrobes, their offices, their living quarters, their furniture, hell, their very existence, without wanting to just go, “Oh, $*%& YOU!”
Half the time I thought, “what are you WEARING??” Seriously, who wears a petticoated ball gown skirt that’s paired with a black TSHIRT to a Middle Eastern open market? So stupid looking. And seeing all of them in their stupid heels traipsing through the sand just drove me nuts. I hated everything that every one of them wore. It was all pretentious, stupid-looking and completely inappropriate for what they were doing. Even the outfits that almost worked (like what Carrie wore to what’s-his-face’s premiere) then had some stupid element that made it ridiculous. Like ending up as open-crotched harem pants when you thought it was a dress. Or the stupid gold MC Hammer pants Samantha arrived in Abu Dhabi wearing. Actually, I can’t pick things out because everything looked so stupid. Do people really dress like that? I hope not. Because if I see you bopping out for lunch in a halter-style one-piece jumpsuit, I totally get to hate you.
Carrie is so incredibly selfish. She wants to be married and force her husband to go out with her every. single. night. She can’t tolerate all the ordering in of food & feels bored because she’s finished decorating their million-dollar apartment with overpriced furniture. (A year & a half for a couch? You do know there are furniture stores where you can walk in & buy something? And it’s delivered in a couple of days? Or you can order online? Like Pottery Barn?) And God forbid her husband should want to just shut down and watch Deadliest Catch after bringing in the cash they’ve used to turn their home into a cold, heartless, personality-missing den. She wants to force him to do all this mindless crap with her, spend 2 days in her old apartment “writing” (which…WHAT??? Who can afford 2 apartments in New York??) and then gets all offended that he might want to cash in on that 2 days alone thing for himself. No man I know would even consider marrying her in the first place – because she’s a shallow shoe whore – but her attitude turns her always equine appearance into one of an orange lizard.
Samantha. Holy crap. She looks as old as she is and just as well-worn. Her face looks horrid & creepy & what was slightly shocking from her in 1999 is now just sad, tired and icky. I could not even stand listening to her talk. She is a complete waste of oxygen. If you’re 52 and your entire reason for living is still banging every stud who comes down the pike, you have utterly wasted your life. The fact that she’s focused on her menopause treatment for the sole purpose of keeping her lady garden fertile is just disgusting. Most menopausal women are just trying to keep an even keel – staving off depression, keeping moods from swinging dangerously, being able to handle summer, etc – she’s just concerned with the fact that she can’t get busy with the Australian soccer team. Ew. She’s just disgusting. She looks like an idiot 90% of the time and sounds like one all the time. Plus, she’s the most self-absorbed horror I’ve ever seen. You’re going to the Middle East, Sammy. I don’t care WHAT you believe back in the States. You are visiting a country where, we learn, you can get arrested for PDA. Tone it down, babe. I mean, really. If you have to behave like…well…Samantha in order to attract the attention of Mr. Rickard, maybe you’re not all that. If he’s interested, just ASK. You don’t need to get all familiar with the hookah pipe or smarm around all the double entendres like that. You’re totally gross.
Miranda. You’re pretty okay. Or, at least, you’re the least offensive of the 4.
However, listening to you and Charlotte moan & whine about how HARD all that MOTHERING is, what with the having to be there for stuff & worrying about the help, garnered at least four curses from me. I feel 100% NOT BAD FOR YOU. Poor Charlotte. Your youngest cries a lot. And it drives you crazy. Boo freaking hoo. You have to worry about your braless nanny. Waah. You have TWO kids. And it’s haaaaaaaard. And Miranda has a child AND a job. And it’s haaaaaard. And you don’t know how all those mother’s without help DO IT. So you clink your stupid glasses together for them. SHUT UP. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. You poor pathetic uber-rich women with children who you have to kind of, you know, care for. Oh, and Charlotte, if you’re going to be idiotic enough to wear vintage something-or-another that’s expensive and WHITE while you make cupcakes with your kids, you deserve to have it ruined. This is why sweatpants were invented. You do NOT bake with children in your good clothes. Ever. Of course, maybe if you’d lighten up a little bit and not dress like Little Psycho Homemaker all the time, we wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
There is so very, very much wrong with this movie & these people. But the pinnacle was Samantha is undressing in the market during call to prayer and a metric tonne of condoms falls out of her purse. In front of all the Muslim men on their way to prayer. And Miss Samantha RespectForTheBeliefsOfOthers gets all up in their faces with the pelvic thrusting and the boob sweat and the many, many gold foil packets. Because she is right and they are backwards & wrong. Except for the part where you’re in their country and they’re going to stone you for being a whore. Which I actually wish they’d done.
But no, they get away and get ushered to a secret lair of Middle Eastern women who are just as shallow, materialistic and stupidly dressed as they are. Under their robes, of course. And they all bond over fashion and Suzanne Somers’ menopause book. WHAT??
And the moral of this story is that the excess of money and bad taste is a language spoken even in countries 6000 miles apart.
I hate you, Sex & the City. You & your overpriced, ugly clothes, impractical, horrifying shoes, poor moral code, lack of values, ostentatious, obscene material vulgarity and your Samantha. Because of this movie, the terrorists win.
