Why I’m almost feeling sorry for Sex and the City 2

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I’m a middle-aged, heterosexual white man. So if you’re talking demographics, I don’t appear on the target audience for Sex and the City. To me, the most important thing it’s doing this weekend is that it’s showing on 8 of the 31 cinema screens within normal travelling distance for me, so there’s no [REC] 2 playing anywhere near me, and I had to catch Lebanon last week before it got shunted off. (And if you like claustrophobic war movies, you should catch it too, but I digress.)

But I became aware of Sex and the City by osmosis; in the same way that I know all of the words to most early Take That and New Kids on the Block songs, through having to hear them from my sister’s bedroom when growing up, my wife has three of the box sets of the series and watched regularly on late night comedy channels. And while it didn’t appeal to me, it wasn’t hard to see why it appealed to so many others.

I did go with her to see the original movie at the cinema, under my philosophy that I will see anything she want to. And I thought it was a 4/10 movie. My main issues were twofold; it seemed to continue the trend from the end of the series of undermining the core philosophy of the characters, making them into simpering cyphers rather than the strong role models they once were, and also that it was 152 minutes. That’s the equivalent of almost seven and a half episodes, like going to watch a box set at the cinema. And it was stretched far too long.

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