Shoes, money, outfits, shoes, vagina, money, shoes, jewelry, outfits, money, shoes.
That’s pretty much all I got out of Sex and the City 2 , a two-and-a-half-hour barrage of fetishized luxury items, crass behavior and grotesque materialism sadly misconstrued as female empowerment.
I understand these four gals have a fanatical fanbase, and I’ll even admit to being charmed by early episodes of the HBO show. But the truth is that Carrie and company ran out of things to say long before the series ended, and the two feature-film spinoffs are nothing but gaudy fashions and off-puttingly ostentatious displays of wealth.
After the redundant happily-ever-after endings of both the TV program and the first movie, there’s no reason for this sequel to exist besides money. So I guess it’s fitting that all Sex and the City 2 is about is just how ridiculously fucking rich these people are. We begin with the garish wedding of two gay sidekicks who I thought used to hate each other. There are swans, a boy-toy choir and a drag queen billed as Liza Minnelli belting out a Beyoncé song.
The closest the film comes to conflict is when Carrie gets angry because her husband likes to put his feet on the couch and watch television; the recession has hit this couple so hard that they’re stuck with only two Manhattan apartments. Instead of a story, we watch the girls vacation at a $22,000-a-night Abu Dhabi resort. Little of interest occurs besides costume changes, and the movie periodically stops dead in its tracks for lengthy itemizations of the expensive products on display. It’s a cartoon Middle East where women wear the latest couture beneath their burquas and mean old religious dudes get offended.
Samantha eventually gets into trouble for fellating a hookah pipe and publically groping a guy named Dick Spyrt (get it?). Carrie sucks face with an ex-boyfriend, so her husband buys her a diamond ring. Miranda and Charlotte complain about their kids, condescendingly drinking a toast to women who can’t afford full-time domestic servants. The big threat hanging over the final act is that they might have to fly home in coach.
After the first film, a fellow critic said to me: “I want everybody in that movie to die of AIDS.” I replied that I wanted something far worse to happen to them. I wanted them to run out of money.
Jonah Hill co-stars as schlubby, put-upon record company staffer Aaron Green, who spends his days absorbing profane insults from his tyrannical boss (a monstrously funny P. Diddy).