High: HBO’s well-written, humorous satire of modern romance in a consumer-obsessed society.
Low: All 291 minutes of the brain-cell-robbing “Sex and the City” cinematic nightmare. Here’s to cooler heads prevailing, and for the Sex and the City saga going the way of friendship bracelets and the XFL.
Guys don’t want anyone to know this, but a lot of them actually like “Sex and the City.” Not those theatrical signs of the apocalypse, of course, the ones that were mainly high-end cinematic commercials for creature comforts and lunacy. Far before those movies splattered across theaters and temporarily euthanized IQ levels, HBO’s clever, satirical series actually had funny things happen. At a concise 25 minutes, the show, unlike the movie, wasn’t determined to make the four heroes/villains seem like uncontrollable hedonists living pointless, Jersey Shore-level lives, only with less fights and more pubic hair jokes. They took the four intelligent, interesting women from the series and made them sound like Megan Fox’s subconscious – a truly terrifying place described in some detail by Dante in The Inferno. Leave it to Hollywood to take a good thing, stretch it three times longer than it’s capable of sustaining, then turn it into a murky discharge of consumerism, and an eye-rolling example of why the British rightly believe they are funnier than Americans. It also brings up a wider phenomenon: the general belief of many guys that to watch movies and television shows about women – without the slightest possibility of an explosion or a Will Ferrell appearance – is stridently bizarre, and possibly only a step away from full-throttle homosexuality. Having said that, the “Sex and the City” movies didn’t exactly do women any favors along those fronts, and just about ruined one of the funnier looks at the absurdity of modern dating.
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