Sex and the City – Judge Mathis Says Thumbs Down

With two free tickets in our hot little hands my husband and I took a no-risk chance at enjoying this movie. I wanted to like it. I knew it might be a challenge, snob that I am, but I was willing to put my prejudices aside and enjoy this film.

I expected the shallow focus on couture and glitz. Not my thing, admittedly, but I hoped to enjoy the artful display of fashion, much like I enjoyed The Devil Wears Prada. Nope. I kept asking myself, how do nearly middle-aged women manage to wear dresses and stiletto heels every single day? Every. Single. Day. Is that necessary? And designers to boot, right down to the $50000 accesssories. The visual assault of the tide of fashion felt tedious to me, not artful.

I expected relational drama – that’s what the show has always been about. What I was overwhelmed by, however, was the sick feeling that came over me observing the immature, frightened, control-freak caricature of femininity illustrated by these powerful women. I wanted to like them. I wanted to admire them. I wanted to learn something by observing their lives.

Didn’t.

Instead I was forced to endure a glitzy, at times pornographic, painful and lengthy emo-drama about 4 immature women living fantasy lives in a fantasy city with their fantasy men, from inside their neurotic and grossly self-centered minds.

I wanted to take a shower when I got home.

I respect the strength and absolute necessity of girlfriends portrayed in the story. I respect the complexity of love relationships they were trying to convey. But I resented the cheesy, preachy, smarmy way they did it.

And the lessons?

The lessons learned by our 4 gal pals were truths the rest of us learned long ago – that real love trumps romance every time, and that family and friends are riches far greater than glitzy lifestyles can offer.

The movie left me wishing these gals had actually learned their lessons in kindergarten when they had the chance.

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