ScreenWize

For a certain demographic, at a certain time, Darren Starr’s television series of Sex and the City, from Candace Bushnell’s book, captured the zeitgeist – a show with four archetypes – career woman, free spirit, earth mother, whore – in whom each viewer could find someone to relate, and in whose antics they saw their own lives reflected, though usually more dramatic, more glamorous and with better clothes. Then, at the peak of their popularity, and very sensibly, these four women turned their heels and disappeared. But it’s hard to stay gone… especially when there’s a cashed-up built in audience promising major box office, phenomenal DVD sales, and lucrative commercial tie-ins.

And so they’re back.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, the four women of whom I speak are Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), who enjoys a little fame in her home city of New York as the writer of a column called ‘Sex and the City,’ the fodder for which is made up from stories plagiarised from her own life, and that of her pals, the prudish Charlotte (Kristin Davis), the shrill Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), and the morally-challenged Samantha (Kim Cattrall).
Over a terrific opening sequence, we catch up on the past four years in our leading ladies lives, before we meet their current round of fodder-for-Carrie’s-writing.

Over time, the girl’s amorous issues have become more pedestrian, more suburban, more middle-aged. Carrie is writing novels and is chaffing at the bit to marry Mister Big (Chris Noth). Charlotte and husband Harry (Evan Handler) have finally found the family they’ve dreamed of with the adoption of a Chinese girl. The always-stressed Miranda and husband Steve (David Eigenberg) are living in the suburbs, while Samantha is playing second fiddle to the movie career of boyfriend Smith Jerrod (Jason Lewis), and monogamy isn’t her colour.

To channel my inner-Carrie, I must confess that I am writing this review on my bed in my underwear. The cursor is flashing on the screen before me, asking the question most pertinent to the issue of the day…

Does this little show have what it takes to transfer onto the big screen?

The script, by Michael Patrick King, who wrote and directed much of the TV series and here makes his big-screen debut, has wit and style and will offer fans everything they have been waiting for over four years. But it lacks cohesion – as though he had just written five 22 minute TV episodes and tacked them all together, and as though he had the hot breath of each of his four lead actresses agents down his neck ensuring each gets equal screen time, laughs, and Big Acting Moments (Kristen Davis’s agent obviously won, but I am not giving any spoilers here).

The peripheral characters don’t get enough of the spotlight. Oscar winner Jennifer Hudson (Dreamgirls), as Carrie’s personal assistant, hints that her Oscar wasn’t a fluke. The male characters are either under-written, tragic plot devices, or objectified meat, but this is a Girls Own movie after all, and besides, who wouldn’t objectify Jason Lewis?

And it is long – two and a half hours. Now, I’m an unashamed fan, so at first viewing I say that is just more film to love, but I suspect after a few viewings, I’ll start to see where the cuts could have been made.

What does get the most from the big screen treatment is the fabulous wardrobe from Patricia Field, who pulls out all the stops with her big-screen budget, dropping every name brand possible.

So, does this little show have what it takes to transfer onto the big screen? In a strictly shallow way, absolutely. I’ll eat my hat if it ever wins any award for anything, but this isn’t rocket science. It’s a slickly marketed tool designed to make its studio, producers and actresses rich, and millions of women and their gay male friends very happy.

CK

Rating:

Filed Under: Reviews by Simon