Yesterday Jessica and I were interviewed on the subject of Carrie Bradshaw; do we like her, is she a narcissist, etc. And the utterances I found coming out of my mouth surprised me. I was, like, defending Carrie Bradshaw, holding that she was a victim of a societal self-absorption addiction that was a natural outgrowth of New York's suspended adolescence, and arguing that Sarah Jessica Parker, in all her suspended adolescent charm, had salvaged from the grim creations of Candace Bushnell — Candace Bushnell being one of those icky dogmatic narcissists who sees only hypocrisy in New Yorkers who claim to have agendas other than fame and shoes and real estate — a sort of heart. In the forgiving glow of distant drunk memory, Sex & The City was a poignant statement about the limitations of all that, a subtle expose of the atrophy that results from the neglect of the basic human need to be needed. "OMG, I'm so kind of exited to see it suddenly!" I told Jess as we walked past a billboard displaying it. So imagine my delight when today, the first ever American review of the movie appears in Anna's RSS feed!
And...yeah I'm sorta over it.
Without giving away too much regarding the story, one theme explores the boundaries of forgiveness — a touch ironic for a romantic comedy that commits the near-irredeemable sin of stretching to nearly 2 ½ hours....Those arcs, however, ultimately prove less satisfying than the simplest scenes, such as the four getting loopy on champagne together.
Yeah, no that is it. Enough alcohol will make pretty much anything sufferable, and Carrie Bradshaw is not a ridiculous person only in the same way I am not an alcoholic, and that is the only way anyone is going to coax me to this movie.