Sex and the City 2 reviews

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Postby Big Magilla » Sun May 30, 2010 1:22 pm

Rex Reed:

The only thing memorable about Sex and the City 2 is the number two part, which describes it totally, if you get my drift. Everything else in this deadly, brainless exercise in pointless tedium is dedicated to the screeching audacity of delusional self-importance that convinces these people the whole world is waiting desperately to watch two hours and 25 minutes of platform heels, fake orgasms and preposterous clothes. It is to movies what fried dough is to nutrition.

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Postby OscarGuy » Thu May 27, 2010 2:25 pm

Well, don't expect a Gigli-sized flop. The midnight showing pulled in approximately $3 million, the original brought in around $2 million. So, that's fairly solid business and considering it has a more built-in aud now, not surprising. The numbers may be depressed over the weekend as word-of-mouth spreads, but we're not talking about a $6M full-run total.
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Postby Greg » Thu May 27, 2010 1:24 pm

I find it a little amusing that one of the big attacks of Sex And The City 2 is its depiction of conspicuous consumption. I doubt it has more conspicuous consumption, and certainly not nearly as much destruction of objects of conspicuous consumption, as Iron Man II.
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Postby Mister Tee » Thu May 27, 2010 11:19 am

Some of you may recall a post I wrote years back, called The Gigli Syndrome. If you don't, let me repeat it briefly, because I think this is a case:

When a Hollywood big-budget (generally) summer movie gets truly lacerating reviews -- as Sex and the City 2 is -- it should not be taken as evidence the movie is especially bad. What it's more likely to mean is, the zeitgeist has aligned so that elements in the film -- the talent involved, the subject matter -- have reached a high-enough weariness level for critics that they release all the pent-up rage they have at the entertainment-iindustrial complex (i.e., the crap they're forced to sit through week after week) and attack this one project with close-to-nuclear force. They may in the process be successful at turning the film into a bomb, or at least less of a success than the studio hoped, and the film will join the list of catchwords-for-failure that stale comics will use for decades (Ishtar, Hudson Hawk, Howard the Duck, and, yes, Gigli).

Following this, critics will resume reviewing movies with their customary half-heartedness, overpraising some faintly entertaining efforts, and giving passes to films every bit as bad as Sex and the City 2 but not officially sanctioned as go-after-able by the conventional consensus. And at the end of the summer, the entire recap of the season will consist of money stories -- who grossed what, who's a genius for making gazillions out of crap.

Sometimes it's really hard to keep caring about movies. American culture seems an utterly lost cause.

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Postby Big Magilla » Thu May 27, 2010 12:57 am

A woman's perspective by Kim Voyner:

Perhaps it's partly just that the women of Sex and the City have worn out their welcome, but Sex and the City 2 annoyed the hell out of me.

I'm a fan of the series, and I actually enjoyed the first Sex and the City movie (although, in retrospect, that may have also partly been due to my need for some cinematic sugar in my diet following 10 days of mostly depressing Euro protein in Cannes), but this time around, girlfriend, they lost me.

The problem with Sex and the City 2 is not that Carrie and the girls are getting older; hell, I'm getting older, along with the rest of the series' fans. It's that the idea of these women who live these lives of excessive privilege constantly whining about their lives was just overwhelmingly irritating to me this time around.

Blame it on the shitty economy and the number of friends who've lost their jobs since we last sat down over Cosmos with Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and Samantha (Kim Cattrall), or the fact that countless people are struggling to keep a roof over their heads and food in their kids' stomachs, but the unbridled consumerism of Sex and the City 2 feels very outdated.

At two-and-a-half hours, Sex and the City 2 has at least two hours too much of shallow consumerism, designer labels and cleavage. They could have easily chopped the entire Abu Dhabi sequence out and had Carrie continue her marital crisis elsewhere (oh, did I forget to mention the bit where Carrie just happens to run into former love Aidan (John Corbett) in the middle of a market in Abu Dhabi? Sorry, I was busy rolling my eyes over the contrivance there.)

They could have made this a film about the girls growing up, dealing with stuff like "to be a mother or not to be a mother," and how to handle menopause while still being a passionately sexual woman, and whether there are different ways to be happily married. And, perhaps, tossed in a dose of reality by maybe having Big's business facing a financial crisis and that driving a need for him and Carrie to cut their extravagant spending and that being a cause of marital strife between them, rather than just Carrie whining about eating take out in her fancy apartment instead of going out. Or something. Anything.

Instead this Sex and the City, as it is, just spends way too much time in the shallow end of the designer pool to make it interesting or relevant to its audience, even as utter escapism. Maybe the series has just lost its touch, and it's time to very firmly put these characters away, and revisit them only through the DVDs of the series. Because I, for one, am feeling very done with Carrie and company.

Her full review here: ... 2_voy.html

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Postby Big Magilla » Wed May 26, 2010 6:48 pm

The N.Y. Post's Kyle Smith had this to say:

As tasteless as an Arabian cathouse, as worn-out as your 1998 flip-flops and as hideous as the mom jeans Carrie wears with a belly-baring gingham top, “Sex and the City 2” is two of the worst movies of the year.

The transformation of the girls from winsome wisecrackers into whiny bling-obsessed chuckleheads is complete.

After an endless 20-minute prologue at a gay wedding where Liza Minnelli croaks out “Single Ladies,” Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) complains that her hubby (Chris Noth) puts his feet on the furniture, watches too much TV and won’t go to parties — then throws a fit when, at a premiere, he chats up Penelope Cruz.

Even a change of scenery — Samantha, Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte head to Abu Dhabi — can’t breathe life into this weary franchise.

Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) remains a corporate bore while Charlotte (Kristin Davis) frets, for no reason, that her husband might have an affair with their hot Irish nanny and bursts into tears when her daughter stains her Valentino skirt — while making muffins. Samantha (Kim Cattrall) gripes about hitting menopause, as 53-year-old women so often do, yet finds herself swarmed by muscled hotties.

She soothes everyone with a free trip to an Abu Dhabi resort where the rooms are worth $22 grand a night. Carrie actually delivers the line, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!” and writer-director Michael Patrick King’s pun dependence becomes as unbearable as the gilt décor. “I’m going to turn this inter-friend-tion into an inter-fun-tion!” . . . “Bedouin, bath and beyond” . . . Blah, Blah, Blahnik.

The girls aren’t interested in anything except shopping, drinking and strutting through the desert in slo-mo, but what’s most appalling is that they vamp to “I Am Woman” in this land of sand Nazis. A veil “cuts back on the Botox bill!” chirps Samantha. Har. In Abu Dhabi husbands can legally beat their wives — and Carrie thinks this place is Oz, a cure for her boredom with a zillionaire husband who, she complains, eats too much takeout. (She won’t cook because she’s more “Coco Chanel than Coq au vin.” Waiter: one divorce, please).

Complications? Carrie loses her passport when distracted by shoes. (Did Lindsay Lohan contribute to this script?) We nearly lose Charlotte when she chases a watch. Native women bond with our heroines — over shared love for the books of Suzanne Somers. A major problem gets solved in the end when Carrie gets more jewelry.

Despite its “Lawrence of Arabia” length, this film — the Sexless and the Self-Pitying — is as unfunny and shapeless as another famed desert epic. Just think of it as “Bitchtar.”

Edited By Big Magilla on 1274917734

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Postby Big Magilla » Wed May 26, 2010 6:44 pm

Matt Pais from Chicago's Metromix chimes in:

Last week Shrek faced the stresses of adult responsibility and aging. Now New York’s four least-witty people struggle with the same issues. So when menopause-fighting Samantha (Kim Cattrall) scores an all-expenses-paid trip to Abu Dhabi—because nothing says carefree hedonism like a trip to a largely Muslim society—it’s a chance for Charlotte (Kristin Davis) to get away from the kids, Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) to forget job woes and Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) to evade marital problems with Big Jerk (Chris Noth).

The buzz: United Arab Emirates officials didn’t allow filming on location (Morocco stands in for UAE) and is considering banning “SATC 2” like it did to the surprisingly decent part one. To reiterate: The first movie wasn't bad, but “Sex” writer-director Michael Patrick King clearly doesn’t realize that taking these women out of Manhattan could be as disastrous as taking the “Ocean’s Eleven” guys out of Vegas.

The verdict: Suck on our sexuality, Abu Dhabi! That seems to be the message of “Sex and the City 2,” which relentlessly looks down its nose at Muslim customs while its entitled characters care more about flying first class than the conservative culture around them. Yes, it’s just a fluffy movie saluting over-consumption. That doesn’t excuse the treatment of the setting, which you don’t have to support to believe it shouldn’t be spit on like this. In lighter matters, dreadful one-liners like “Bedouin bath and beyond” and “Lawrence of my labia” are just one way the film embarrasses its stars while offering little in the friendship department. Women, this isn’t empowerment; it’s like watching Us Weekly prank call the New York Times.

Did you know? Carrie, whose excruciating smugness suggests her internal monologue constantly chants, “I’m great!,” says she perceives New York pre-1986 as “B.C.,” meaning “Before Carrie.” Would anyone really want to spend time with this person?

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Postby Sabin » Wed May 26, 2010 5:59 pm

The women of Sex and the City make my skin crawl. Sarah Jessica Parker doesn't look like anything anymore.

Have these women ever had an irrational fight where ONE of them has a problem with the other for more than five minutes? This franchise should take a cue from the actresses, none of whom are not on speaking terms. Friendship (and sex) is largely defined by how you come together after disagreement, not by how you blandly stay together.
"If you are marching with white nationalists, you are by definition not a very nice person. If Malala Yousafzai had taken part in that rally, you'd have to say 'Okay, I guess Malala sucks now.'" ~ John Oliver

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Postby Damien » Wed May 26, 2010 5:42 pm

If the four women were African-American Ebert would be calling it one of the best films of the year.

He makes my skin crawl.
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Postby Big Magilla » Wed May 26, 2010 4:01 pm

Get the Razzies ready:

Sex and the City 2

BY ROGER EBERT / May 25, 2010

Some of these people make my skin crawl. The characters of "Sex and the City 2" are flyweight bubbleheads living in a world which rarely requires three sentences in a row. Their defining quality is consuming things. They gobble food, fashion, houses, husbands, children, vitamins and freebies. They must plan their wardrobes on the phone, so often do they appear in different basic colors, like the plugs you pound into a Playskool workbench.

As we return to the trivialities of their lives for a sequel, marriage is the issue. The institution is affirmed in an opening sequence at a gay wedding in Connecticut that looks like a Fred Astaire production number gone horribly over budget. There's a 16-man chorus in white formal wear, a pond with swans, and Liza Minnelli to perform the ceremony. Her religious or legal qualifications are unexplained; perhaps she is present merely as the patron saint of gay men. After the ceremony, she changes to a Vegas lounge outfit and is joined by two lookalike backups for a song and dance routine possibly frowned upon in some denominations.

Then it's back to the humdrum married life of our gal Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and the loathsome Mr. Big (Chris Noth). Carrie, honey, how can you endure life with this purring, narcissistic, soft-velvet idiot? He speaks loudly enough to be heard mostly by himself, his most appreciative audience. And he never wants to leave the house at night, preferring to watch classic black-and-white movies on TV. This leads to a marital crisis. Carrie thinks they should talk more. But sweetheart, Mr. Big has nothing to say. At least he's provided you with a Manhattan apartment that looks like an Architectural Digest wet dream.

Brief updates. Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) is a high-powered lawyer who is dissed by her male chauvinist pig boss. Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) is still a sexaholic slut. Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) has the two little girls she thought she wanted, but now discovers that they actually expect to be raised. Mothers, if you are reading, run this through your head. One little girl dips her hands in strawberry topping and plants two big handprints on your butt. You are on the cell to a girlfriend. How do you report this? You moan and wail out: "My vintage Valentino!" Any mother who wears her vintage Valentino while making muffin topping with her kids should be hauled up before the Department of Children and Family Services.

All of this is pretty thin gruel. The movie shows enterprise, and flies the entire cast away to the emirate of Abu Dhabi, where the girls are given a $22,000-a-night suite and matching Maybachs and butlers, courtesy of a sheik who wants to have a meeting with Samantha and talk about publicity for his hotel.

This sequence is an exercise in obscenely conspicuous consumption, in which the girls appear in so many different outfits they must have been followed to the Middle East by a luggage plane. I don't know a whole lot about fashion, but I know something about taste, and these women spend much of the movie dressed in tacky, vulgar clothing. Carrie and Samantha also display the maximum possible boobage, oblivious to Arab ideas about women's modesty. There's more cleavage in this film than at a pro wrestler's wedding.

And crotches, have we got crotches for you. Big close-ups of the girls themselves, and some of the bulgers they meet. And they meet some. They meet the Australian world cup team, for example, which seems to have left its cups at home. And then there's the intriguing stranger Samantha meets at the hotel, whose zipper-straining arousal evokes the fury of an offended Arab guest and his wife. This prodigy's name is Rikard Spirt. Think about it.

Samantha is arrested for kissing on the beach, and there's an uncomfortable scene in which the girls are menaced by outraged men in a public market, where all they've done is dress in a way more appropriate for a sales reception at Victoria's Secret. They're rescued by Arab women so well covered only their eyes are visible, and in private these women reveal that underneath the burkas they're wearing Dior gowns and so forth. Must get hot.

I wondered briefly whether Abu Dhabi had underwritten all this product placement, but I learn the "SATC2" was filmed in Morocco, which must be Morocco's little joke. That nation supplies magnificent desert scenes, achieved with CGI, I assume, during which two of the girls fall off a camel. I haven't seen such hilarity since "Abbott and Costello in the Foreign Legion."

The movie's visual style is arthritic. Director Michael Patrick King covers the sitcom dialogue by dutifully cutting back and forth to whoever is speaking. A sample of Carrie's realistic dialogue in a marital argument: "You knew when I married you I was more Coco Chanel than coq au vin." Carrie also narrates the film, providing useful guidelines for those challenged by its intricacies. Sample: "Later that day, Big and I arrived home."

Truth in reviewing: I am obliged to report that this film will no doubt be deliriously enjoyed by its fans, for the reasons described above. Male couch potatoes dragged to the film against their will may find some consolation. Reader, I must confess that while attending the sneak preview with its overwhelmingly female audience, I was gob-smacked by the delightful cleavage on display. Do women wear their lowest-cut frocks for each other?

Note: From my understanding of the guidelines of the MPAA Code and Ratings Administration, Samantha and Mr. Spirt have one scene that far, far surpasses the traditional MPAA limits for pumping and thrusting.

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