Carried Away... Seriously, Could Someone Get Me Outta Here?

I had not seen a single preview for Cyrus before I went to see it. I had, however, seen ads for months on the New York Times website, where I have only seen advertisements for films I knew I would really like (and ended up liking, too). Clearly, I have not seen every film advertisement on their website, so I am generalizing, but my point is that, without even seeing a preview, I knew I would enjoy this film…

Okay, yes, that paragraph is not the introduction to my real blog post for ‘Movies in the Real World.’ (Cyrus has not arrived in theaters in the Bay Area yet. It is opening in one theater in San Francisco tomorrow.) Rather, it is the first few lines of the post I wish I were writing. And it actually makes me sad to admit as much, because I truly love Miranda Hobbes. I love her deeply and am fiercely loyal, and I never expected the day would come when thinking about Miranda and my Sex and the City ladies would induce in me something akin to serious heartburn.

My sister and I have both seen every episode of Sex and the City at least twice. I love the characters; I love the relationships; I love the way that New York defines the characters and the plot lines; I love how the show explored relationships and issues that seemed real; and, finally, I love how the show refused to be constrained by stereotypes of female sexuality. I am not embarrassed to say that I learned things about society and myself from watching this show. Needless to say, when the first movie came out, I was thrilled! I went opening weekend with my mom and sister, and had a blast. My enjoyment was due more to the feeling of nostalgia and comfort I got from seeing these characters again, less to the film’s actual quality. In theory, I do not have a moral objection to sequels, to movies adapted from television shows (or vice versa – hey Buffy!), or to sequels to movies adapted from television shows. Sex and the City 2 was no exception, and I did not ask for much: just a few hours of entertaining, easy watching and the chance to see my gals back together again. I have come to realize that in the lead up to this movie, however, I was asking all the wrong questions. The line of question I should have pursued starts with: what do I have to do, and I would do almost anything, to prevent the release of this most “unholy resurrection.”

I went to see Sex and the City 2 at Shattuck Cinemas in downtown Berkeley. The anticipation and popularity of the franchise meant that the film was screening in nearly every movie theater in the Bay Area, but I picked Shattuck because it is a classic older theater with fewer seats and smaller screens than most contemporary megaplexes. I like the romanticism inherent in the presentation of films in venues like this; I feel like I am supposed to dress up and really respect the experience of going out to the cinema. The eight dollars I paid for my ticket ($10 without a student ID) and the $6-$7 that can be easily spent on snacks (which I normally skip unless I am inclined to splurge/make utterly unnecessary/borderline incoherent purchases), though, take some skip out of my step. When it comes to Sex and the City, however, the offerings at the concession stand are only the (tiny) tip of the iceberg. The film was not only filled with product placement, but its release was accompanied by a plethora of Sex and the City themed-goods, most notably Sex and the City 2 Skyy Vodka, perfect for that Cosmo (SATC’s signature drink) you and your girlfriends are dying to make! Granted, this franchise has never been lacking in expensive clothing, shoes, or lifestyles, but the marketing and product collaboration on the second film seemed especially aggressive.

I am a movie fanatic; it takes a lot for me to dislike/actually not enjoy a film. It was not so much that I did like SATC 2 (though, to be clear, I DID NOT LIKE IT) as I spent the majority of the film feeling offended by its glutinous displays of consumerism and desperate affluence. From Stanford’s wedding to their all-expenses-paid trip to the Middle East, the movie forgot that it was supposed to have a plot and sympathetic, or at least not despicable, characters, and instead situated itself comfortable within the confines of various stereotypes of western greed and consumption. In “Resistance Through Cinema,” Richard Dyer contends that the character of Gilda was constructed in light of and relied heavily upon Rita Hayworth’s public persona. With SATC 2, the characters were constructed not in terms of the personas of the actors who play them, but in consideration of the celebrity of the fictional characters themselves. However, I am not sure why the writers of SATC 2 imagined its audience would be satisfied with simple caricatures of the women they once loved. The characters only served to remind me of everything I ever disliked, was disappointed by, or hated about the original series. They successfully distilled the movie into a series of scenes that embodied many of the criticisms the show received, with characters that resembled nothing of their former powerful, independent, and non-stereotypical selves. The film’s characters were excessively extravagant, no effort was made to present the wonderful relationships between these women that defined the show, and nobody actually seemed happy with their lives. A great thing about the show was that it always felt like these women were unapologetically living exactly how they wanted to; this strength and beautiful self-assuredness is, unfortunately, stripped from them in the film.

It is hard to even begin discussing the characters’ trip to Abu Dhabi. On one hand, I want to forget it ever happened, but on the other I want to write a dissertation on the film’s clumsy/offensive attempts to confront issues relating to sex and gender in the Middle East. As such, it would be impossible for me to adequately assess the girls’ excursion in this blog post. I would, however, like to make one connection to a particular reading and film from class. As I watched SATC 2, I recognized an interesting correlation with Set It Off. In Kara Keeling’s, “What’s Up with That? She Don’t Talk,” she explores how Queen Latifah’s character’s masculinity is constructed and defined in relation to her ultra-feminized girlfriend, who performs traditional/stereotypical femininity so completely that she does not utter one audible line throughout the entire film. Except for one scene towards the end of SATC 2, in which a group of Muslim women shed their traditional garb only to reveal the “hottest fashions” underneath, Muslim womanhood is only ever observed from a distance. The film’s assertions of moral superiority of American culture and customs are supported by the silence of and physical distance that is maintained between the four main characters and Muslim women throughout the film.

I went to see the first SATC film in Charleston, SC. My mom was living there at the time, and my sister and I were visiting for the weekend. It was opening weekend, and the line to the theater was out the door. Black and White women flocked to the screening I attended, dressed in outfits that were clearly in homage to the ladies they love. The crowd howled when the theme song began playing during the opening credits, and screamed when Carrie first appeared onscreen in that stunning white dress with huge flower. It was clear that the audience thoroughly enjoyed their experience. Things were starkly different the second time around. The showing I attended was noticeable lacking in attendees, and there were none of the audible cues of enjoyment that I heard during the first film. Instead, I heard snickering throughout the film from clearly disappointed fans.