SATC 2, the heartaches

 unlike the first movie, i really didn't want to catch the sequel in the cinemas. i read all the reviews and the male reviewers basically were brutal. women moan too much, they say. as a tv series, the four gals bash men on a fairly regular basis. SATC is not for the male species. neither should any male writer review it. but they did and they've splintered this suffix into pieces.

in truth though, they're right. after a good year, i finally able to join the queue of disparagers. i didn't like the first film and the next one is another hallow foray into designer brands. yes, i'm bitter that i don't have a place in park avenue or live in hampstead. or couldn't afford a Chanel wallet. the girls have always been pretty privilege. carrie struck gold with Big. what does she write about that is pretty lucrative? she doesn't even write novels. yet, here she is, as the flick implies, the toast of manhattan, the ultimate party girl.

i like Stanford. i like seeing him with a few lines. he was barely cameo in the first film. his wedding though was too ostentatious. it defies a lot of reckoning. liza minelli was mostly mocked for her rendition of a beyonce classic. but at 64? c'mon guys, show some mercy.

in the main narrative, carrie is carrie. boring. charlotte wears vintage designer clothing while baking cupcakes worrying about the bra-less nanny. miranda's plot is way too thin. samantha is surviving on creams and pills to stave off the symptoms of menopause. she is remaining true to character at 52. she looks good, ageing better than all the other girls.

the writers dwelling too much on abu dhabi is far from a prudent decision. a show about liberated women transplanted into the most conservative region of the world is never a good mix. it becomes ridiculous. like their hotel suite or super first class seats in the plane. or their outfits in the desert.