Monday, July 07, 2008
I made a big mistake the other night.
I went to see Sex and the City without a box of tissue.
Love, romance, cum shots. Perfect chick flick. For fans of the HBO series like myself, the movie was like a great big truck pulling into a loading dock. It delivers. If you like design and shoes and beautiful art direction the movie is worth it for those alone. The actors are wonderful as is the writing. I know comedies don't get Oscar nods very often but I hope Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, of the 4 Muses, and writer Michael Patrick King get noms come this spring. Four years after the series ended I wasn't expecting such an emotional rollercoaster ride. One minute I was crying only to see a sight gag so funny I almost choked on my organic carob bon bon. A conflict occurs between two characters that percolates under the plot and one particular tragedy adding a tension waiting to explode. The script and characters honor human relationships: vocalizing fear, loyalty and listening are exulted to become noble acts of love. Sharing emotions separates us from other species as gods and goddesses in Sex and The City. We're only as sick as our secrets. Maybe nobody knows that more than women.
The sex scenes are excellent and ofter a variety of responses including erotica, humour, aesthetical nudes and sentimental moments. Two shower scenes throw it down. One such scene is so sexy a mass suspension of breathing could be heard by a group moan rivaled only by Naveen Andrews when he flipped his wet shampooed hair in The English Patient. If you're a woman or gay you'll know what I mean. Soapy sud scenes have an unofficial ranking system based on Meryl Streep and Robert Redford in Out of Africa and this regenerating movie gives lots of money shots. Too bad so many men dislike listening to women talk. They will have missed a sexy, funny profound buddy movie.