Some dudes say they’d rather light their dicks on fire than endure this movie version of the ultimate in TV chickcoms. Snap out of it, guys, you just might learn something. If the film didn’t go on for a punishing two and a half hours, including two fashion shows and countless designer name-checks, I might call it must-viewing for men who are clueless about the female psyche. Come on, what men aren’t? It took producer and star Sarah Jessica Parker four years of struggling to finally get the movie made. Long story short: Co-star Kim Cattrall wanted to get the same money Parker was getting for the film and held off until she came close. Presto: The Movie.
New York City is back, and so are the ladies: Parker is funny, touching and vital as Carrie Bradshaw, the sex-columnistturned-author who is planning a wedding to the elusive Mr. Big (Chris Noth). Her meltdown scene is risky, raw and riveting. Cattrall purrs profanely as Samantha Jones, the near-nympho publicist, now living in L.A. and playing loyal cougar to her TV-star client (Jason Lewis) despite the Malibu stud (Gilles Marini) next door. Cynthia Nixon digs deep as Miranda Hobbes, the lawyer who loves her child’s father but can’t forgive him for a one-night stand. And Kristin Davis is sweetness under siege as Charlotte York, well matched with Harry (Evan Handler) but desperate to carry a child.
Writer-director Michael Patrick King, the creative force behind the show’s later seasons, can’t disguise the fact that the movie is basically five TV episodes strung together (only three hit the mark). But his script is more honest about aging than anything in Indy 4. As Carrie’s new assistant, Dreamgirls Oscar winner Jennifer Hudson adds a twentysomething perspective for female characters who are now in their 40s. And the contrast hits home. Beyond the shoes, the cosmopolitans and the disloyal men, Sex and the City has always been about the bond among women. At its best, the movie shows why that bond sticks.