The wife and I went to see “Sex In The City 2.” I implore you not to see this movie.

The original series and first movie were edgy.  Witty.  Insightful.  Even, as HBO brags, “groundbreaking.”

The characters were likable. They reminded us of people whom we knew. They were multidimensional.  They had at least a fleeting sense of reality to them.

What the hell happened?

This sequel made “Caddyshack II,” “Slap Shot II,” and “Major League II” (horrifyingly bad sequels to seminal guy movies) look like Oscar candidates.

The dialogue –when it wasn’t finding ways for the characters to drop gratuitous f-bombs, no doubt intended to simultaneously shock the overwhelmingly female audience and tell them it’s cool to cuss — was too clever by half and peppered with pitiful puns that made me want to puke.

The plot? Preposterous.  The girls (easy there ladies, that’s what they call themselves…I’m just the reporter here) were caricatures of themselves.  Hokey cameos by semi-starlets. Yawn.

The whole thing was a showcase for excess — remarkably tasteless in a 10% unemployment environment.  Who goes to Abu Dhabi on an all-expenses paid junket? Who drives around in chauffer driven Maybachs? Who goes out drinking like that all the time? And why the hell is it always Cosmos?  Those are so 2007. If you’re going to curse, would it kill you to drink scotch or a proper see-through with an olive or an onion?  Really.

And look…I like to feel pretty as much as the next guy, but the cavalcade of crappy couture was criminal. Who are they kidding? Nobody wears this shit any more than any man wears the overpriced garbage in GQ and Esquire (and don’t get me started on who must pick the models…).

Oh…and Samantha? The lascivious sexpot routine was funny and alluring for a while, and we’d even throw her a bone (so to speak) in the first movie even though she was getting a little tired…but she is now a genuine hag, and shouldn’t be wearing half of what she was wearing (or more accurately, should have been wearing TWICE what she was wearing).  The close-ups that suggested that she still had a shred of hotness simply ruined the speed-dinner we needed before we had to spring the babysitter.  Men generally love women who are open about their sexuality…but have a little judgment and taste, and act more than HALF your age.

The wedding (Big gets in trouble for referring to it as a “gay wedding” so I’ll refrain), though, was screamingly funny.  A men’s chorus singing romantic standards in glittery top hats.  And swans. And Liza Minelli.  Priceless.

Take my advice. Skip it.  Watch “The Godfather” again.  You’ll thank me later.

Leave a Reply