Dear Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda,
Sex and the City 2 did not offend me. You did not make me think less (or more) of Muslim culture. You did not make me think less (or more) of Dior, Gucci or Manolo Blahnik. You made me laugh and you showed me that women “past their prime” can still get work in Hollywood. You made me envious for more girlfriends and appreciative of the ones I’ve got.
Sure, you rocked some fugly frocks, but that’s what you people do. And besides, I wear cutoff denim shorts on the weekends. What do I know about fashion?
Underneath the razzmatazz, your movie was filled with realistic and honest exchanges between girlfriends, which is why I’m delighted by your little television-turned-film enterprise and why millions of women all over the world love you. You live fantasy lives and wear fantasy clothes. You’ve been dumped, cheated on, proposed to, knocked up and told you were too old, too sensitive, too forgiving and too unforgiving. The most inspiring thing is you treat each other well, which as a message, never gets old.
Now. I know folks like Roger Ebert called you “flyweight bubbleheads” because you dared to make a comedy about women and for women that was bawdy and outrageous. But I guess male film critics don’t take kindly to middle-aged women in short skirts and high heels mucking up a a genre dominated by men. Bawdy outrageous comedies are supposed to be about men and for men, starring Seth Rogen.
Tsk, tsk, ladies. Don’t you know your place? I mean, look at Miss Scarlett Johansson. Her rear end gave such a good performance in Iron Man 2, which Ebert loved. Message to moviegoers: there’s nothing bubbleheaded about an asshole in a rocket-propelled robot suit.
Carrie: I’m sorry Ebert ripped on your narration and suggested the dialogue with your husband was unrealistic. I suggest when/if you film Sex and the City 3, you amp up the realism by casting a Vodka-swilling, electric whip-wielding Mickey Rourke. His gold teeth and collagen lips oozed the kind of Shakespearean dialogue you can only get on a Bazooka Joe wrapper.
Samantha: I’m sorry Ebert called you a “sexaholic slut.” Since you deliver the best and most hysterical performances in the movie, the least he could have said was that you were a funny sexaholic slut. Oh well. Grain of salt. Grain of salt. If it makes you feel better, Ebert called Iron Man 2 hornball Tony Stark “cocky and egotistical,” which I know is barely a consolation coming from His Royal Filmness, since he bestowed one star upon your movie and three stars upon Iron Man 2.
Oh, and about that slow-mo sequence of you girls walking over sand dunes in haute couture camel-riding attire. I accepted that the background was likely CGI-enhanced and promptly got over it. Why in his review of Iron Man 2, Ebert applauds the use of CGI in what was essentially the most absurd scene in the movie (Rourke slicing race cars in half with his electrified lasso) and then snidely chides Sex and the City 2 for digitally rendering the Abu Dhabi desert, tips the hypocrite scale in new and impressive ways.
Look on the bright side. At least female film critics kept their talons to themselves.
Oh wait. No they didn’t.
Dopey USA Today film marm Claudia Puig called your movie “tasteless” and chastised your cameramen for shooting you from “unflattering angles.” The nerve of those guys. I mean, how are audiences supposed to stomach crow’s feet, imperfect teeth and a nose that’s not an adorable button?
Thank god the directors of male comedies have the decency to cast handsome actors all the time. Whew! Last night, at the Get Him to the Greek screening, I watched Judd Apatow’s favorite Humpty Dumpty, Jonah Hill, puke on himself no less than 25 times. Even hotter, I watched him shove a baggie of heroin up his ass and, in what is sure to be one of the steamiest shots of the summer, I watched the camera pan his flat naked monkey rump. Not since Brad Pitt dropped trou in Thelma and Louise has an actor turned me on so much.
But I suppose Hill’s puke and ass crack are standard fare for a buddy comedy and no less noteworthy than say the copious amounts of requisite marijuana consumed in any number of Apatow movies, of which Puig is a fan.
And here’s where both critics blow sycophantic circles around one another: They loved the movie Pineapple Express, which was a flaming pile of turd and one of Apatow’s worst bromances to date.
Again, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda. Do not be fooled by misogynists, even if they wear women’s clothing. Here’s what Puig had to say about Pineapple Express:
“This bawdy stoner comedy about a couple days in the life of three foolish dudes feels like a relative of last summer’s hit about a trio of inept guys. It’s a similar sweet-silly buddy comedy where everything that can go wrong does. A scene with a stolen police car that leads to a pot-fueled chase is side-splittingly funny. Producer Judd Apatow excels at this sort of raunchy but good-natured post-adolescent tale and has wisely allied himself with smart, quirky filmmakers.”
Really Puig? Side-splittingly funny? USA Today pays you to give glowing reviews of bad movies using archaic clichés? How do you even have a job? My film critic husband might have a small audience in Tampa, but he could write you under the table in a heartbeat. See? That’s two clichés in one sentence. To quote the opening line of your Sex and the City 2 review, those who prefer to judge movies for themselves are best to “steer clear of the mortifying mess” that is a Claudia Puig review.
Before I go, dear Sex and the City queens, I must tell you that I don’t often get worked up over movie reviews I disagree with. Although the last time you people made a movie, I wrote an equally impassioned plea in your defense. I don’t know what it is about you that riles me so. Could be that I don’t think it’s fair that a dozen overpaid film critics have the right to influence millions of moviegoers by perpetuating double standards, be it obliviously or purposefully.
Now if only Carrie had married Aidan and not that aloof playa, Big.
PS. My husband is an enlightened male and I’m grateful for that every day. You can find his Sex and the City 2 review here, including his Reel Projections Sex and the City 2 podcast discussion with yours truly and Lance reader, London.
PPS. Here’s a positive review from Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Jenice M. Armstrong. Kudos to Armstrong for not being a sheep.