SEX AND THE CITY

Written and Directed by Michael Patrick King
Starring Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristen Davis, Cynthia Nixon and Chris Noth


Carrie Bradshaw: You know that this is a fairy tale, right sweetheart? Things don’t always work out like this in real life.

It’s important to state right away that I am a devout fan of the “Sex and the City” television series. I have seen the episodes countless times and they still tickle me almost as often as they touch me. Clearly, what you’re going to get out of the SEX AND THE CITY movie depends on what you’re going in with. For anyone who cares as much as I did, and there are more than enough in my boat to sink it, these girls have been sorely missed. It has been four years since the boy who called love, Mr. Big (Chris Noth) found a crumbling Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) in Paris and told her finally that she was the one. Subsequently, it has been just as much time since Carrie foolishly believed him capable of feeling such things and forewent all her single sensibility for a crapshoot she called love. (It figures the one part of the series I would not like would be its conclusion). Who cares though? I still want more. When the lights went down and the sounds of that familiar theme began to rise (albeit just as a sample in some overwrought Fergie song), my romantic heart sped up just a little and an inevitable smile took over my face. But as the credits gave way to a recap of the characters’ arcs whittled down to their barest bones, I couldn’t help but wonder, who does director, Michael Patrick King think is seeing this movie that doesn’t already know all of this as well as the fit of their favorite shoes?


If you were not a fan of the series, this film will do nothing for you but remind you why. If you were a fan, you may feel some varying degree of disappointment but you’ll still likely see it and love it more than once. How could you not? I was mildly disappointed and I still cried at least three times. I missed these girls. They kept me company on so many restless nights. Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) taught me how to let go of life long enough to let love in. Charlotte (Kristen Davis) taught me that you might not recognize love when it finally comes to you. Samantha (Kim Cattrall) taught me that old habits eventually need to be left behind if your life is ever to become what it could. And Carrie … oh, Carrie. Carrie taught me about the constant struggle to find happiness in yourself and your own life regardless of whether you’re fortunate enough to be sharing that with another person. So often did her poetic musings give me calm and resolve that the show became a necessary fix whenever I lost hope that love still knew where to find me.


Though the ladies may mean different things to different people, the need for the SEX AND THE CITY movie is palpable within its devoted fan base. The movie itself however creates none of its own urgency and does little to justify its own existence. Yes, I wanted the girls back but it would have been nice if they came back for a reason. Without divulging too much (as I believe the fate for spoiling this film is castration), the good times pick up again four years after we last left the streets of New York City. Miranda’s busy married life with Steve (David Eigenberg) has gotten stagnant; Charlotte lives in bliss with her husband Harry (Evan Handler) and their adopted girl, Lily; Samantha has made a life of monogamy and management with her young stud, Smith (Jason Lewis)in Los Angeles; and Carrie has somehow managed to domesticate Mr. Big, now known as John James Preston. It would even seem that they are headed toward wedded bliss. The big day comes though with expected big disasters and Carrie gets exactly what she should have seen coming all along.


As I was never happy that the quintessential single girl settled for a man who hurt her repeatedly and consistently, it was hard to feel satisfied watching her make the same mistakes on the big screen. On such a grand stage, I wanted to see Carrie blossom into the true state of confidence and individuality that her character was destined to, if only just to remind myself that I have that same capacity. Instead, her small screen magnificence only half fills the new digs and left me feeling rushed and unfinished instead of post-orgasm elation. And with the last round of cosmos now behind us, I got my much needed fix but I can’t tell whether SEX AND THE CITY (the movie) will keep the love flowing far into the future or finally put SEX AND THE CITY (the phenomenon) to rest.

DREAMGIRLS

DREAMGIRLS
Written and Directed by Bill Condon


A few short years ago, a little musical called CHICAGO came along and set the new standard for the modern movie musical. Picking up where CABARET left off fifteen or so years earlier, CHICAGO featured quick-paced editing that compartmentalized and sexualized many a shake and just as many a gyration. Its polished glitz and glamour announced the second coming of a genre that had been struggling for years. Long gone were the days of showcasing talent, leaving composition and aesthetic to bring up the rear. From now on, talent would be constructed to work with the visuals, allowing the musical genre to appeal to a generation that can’t hold its focus longer than the time it takes to execute a four-step combination. The bar had been raised and no film has come close to CHICAGO’s caliber since, until now. Following 1960’s girl group, The Dreams, from their humble beginnings to their ultimate dissolution, DREAMGIRLS brings the musical back to the multiplex with a brand new R&B groove to back it up. Director Bill Condon hopes DREAMGIRLS will follow in CHICAGO’s successful footwork all the way to solid box-office gold and with it, he throws his hat into the Oscar race one more time (following moderately successful bids with GODS AND MONSTERS and KINSEY). What all this repackaging suggests though is that a musical is a naturally difficult sell and though DREAMGIRLS had me bopping along, rootin’ for the girls and crying out loud, it never let me forget how much it was trying to get me to like it.

Condon paints a colorful scene, rich with deep blues and golds but all his aesthetic work is overshadowed by the brazen performances of his exuberant cast. Much has been said already but everything you’ve heard is actually true. As James Early, a womanizing, coke-snorting master of funk, Eddie Murphy is sneaky and sleazy and enjoying every minute of it. His descent from fame weathers his face but his spark always manages to find its way through the funk that finds itself watered down through the years. In many ways, Murphy’s career mirrors Early’s so the applause echoes both on and off screen. With Murphy showing new life later in his career, Beyonce Knowles shows a promise I had not expected so early in hers, if at all. Months of acting classes were a great investment for Knowles. As Deena Jones, Knowles transitions from a naïve girl hoping to succeed into a grown woman at the forefront of a groundbreaking female trio struggling to take back some control over her life, which has been directed entirely by the recording industry. It might not sound like a stretch for Knowles given her experience with Destiny’s Child but her performance as Jones shows both vulnerability and desire. Perhaps her most impressive feat is scaling back her trademark vocals to play someone who supposedly has no colour in her voice. And then there is Jennifer Hudson, this year’s breakout star. Your eye is instantly drawn to her and you wait for her to show you what she’s got. When she does, you’ll see why everyone is talking. Hudson’s voice is so powerful and exudes so much character and emotion that it brought me to tears more than once. Hudson’s Effie White gets all the best songs and the best trajectory as well but if Hudson didn’t own every aspect of this character’s fragile ego as it crumbles and falls hard, no one would care about this movie. That only leaves Jamie Foxx as Dreams manager, Curtis Taylor JR. You haven’t heard much about Foxx but that’s probably because he underplays the role so much that he ends up leaving no mark at all.


The musical is not always simply song and dance; the musical can also be meaningful. DREAMGIRLS has plenty to say and it says it directly and without shame. The bulk of its malice is pointed straight at the music industry. The first point of its one-two punch assault is in regards to the treatment of artists in the industry. Deena replaces Effie as lead singer of The Dreams because there is more chance for The Dreams to crossover with a smoother, more accessible (read, more white, but more on that later) sound and the group gets no say. One artist will rerecord another’s song and usurp all of their radio play if the label executives say so. The girls eventually lose all say over what they want to do with their own lives for the sake of their careers. In Deena’s case, this is even more abusive as her manager, Taylor, is also her husband. The second punch attacks the industry for its whitening of soul music. Often, the songs that were being rerecorded were being done so by white recording artists with more popular appeal. This is what made The Dreams so important. They were able to crossover from the R&B stations to the pop stations. While the industry was exploiting their artists and exploiting an entire race, these same black artists managed to make their own inroads towards fighting racism by appealing to white listeners who were forced to face images they were not willing to before. That’s the healing property of music, I suppose.

DREAMGIRLS is not simply a monumental musical but it is a mammoth film. It is grand in scope and large in life. Though it stumbles at times, its soul is infectious and its satisfaction is sweet. Mr. Condon, you needn’t have tried so hard. I would have liked you just the same.