[Copied and pasted from my external BLOG ]
After the conclusion of the first film being that Big finally boots his pride up the arse and marries Carrie in a humble registry office, which we’re apparently supposed to accept as being a romantic alternative to Carrie’s Westwood extravaganza, you’d think there wouldn’t be much else Darren Star could squeeze out of the previously successful sitcom.
Opening with Stanford’s lavish, oh-so-camp wedding, a hideously masculine outfit for Carrie (because all gays love a good cross-dresser) and a guest-star performance from Liza Minelli performing Beyonce’s Single Ladies (because she’s the next best thing to Judy, and all gay guys love Judy), I was sufficiently convinced that this would be one film without clichés. Oh yes, I wasn’t disappointed.
I’m happy to say it didn’t feature a complete trashing of all previous characterisation for the sake of (poor) comedy, such as Miranda the workaholic, quitting her job and planning a fun-filled week of partying in Abu Dhabi. You won’t find Samantha looking like a ropey old spinster with a face so tight she resembles a Jim Henson puppet from The Dark Crystal, and both Carrie and Charlotte will have no qualms regarding their perfect luxurious lifestyles, and their hot, romantic marriages. When the credits role, you’ll realise how horribly wrong you were to ever doubt this sequel; and by the end of this paragraph, you’ll realise I’m talking ****. It was all those things, and worse.
From the moment they announced a second movie, I knew it was doomed. For a start they took the girls out of their natural habitat – New York-, which is always a massive no-no for any sitcom. I believe doing this only caused confusion for the writers, who clearly knew so little about their characters thus far that they completely misgauged their approach to new cultures and instead created this hideous menagerie of patronising, insulting, and -dare I say it?- racist scenes from start to finish.
It seemed like the only way the women were able to relate to those of another race, specifically Islamic people, was to assume that beneath those torturous burkah disguises lay thousands of fashion-obsessed women just itching to break free. That’s right, behind all that religious dedication on which they’ve built their very lives, behind the facades of their faith, is….Gucci. Dior. Well bugger me! I thought these Islamic women were practising their commitment to Islam, but really they’re just sheltered tarts. I needn’t say this, but I shall; this was just pure ignorance. Of course a lot of modern Islamic women wear –get this – clothes under their burkah, but why must we be so obnoxious as to suggest that they’ve needed to create some sort of underground cult, primarily dedicated to western fashions?
Not only that, but Samantha’s contribution to the film was to shed light on the fact that public displays of intercourse and foreplay are frowned upon in Abu Dhabi, so much so that after such an event takes place in a public restaurant, some silly old Arab man actually gets offended! Heavens! Because us hip-hop-‘n’-happenin’ western bunch wouldn’t bat an eyelid at that sort of behaviour in one of our restaurants, would we? And just to prove this, Samantha finally escapes the jaws of the Arabic community, where she can have full-frontal sex on a beach in New York, “the land of the free”. Sadly, the scene in which she’s hauled to a jail cell and given 6 months community service and a whopping fine for indecent exposure never made the final cut.
So far removed are they from this culture, (which we’re supposed to believe they simply adore), is that they insisted on including a gay Muslim called Abdul, who swings his shopping bags, wore yams to cleanse his face, and happily became Samantha’s gay BFF for the entirety of the film. Yes, I’m sure there are closet-gay Muslims, and openly gay Muslims, and what have you – but that was just hideous, tacky, and sadly predictable. Did I mention this film was patronising?
In short, the entire film was one tacky, contrived event after another; a moment seemed like an hour, the story took us nowhere, and as those precious seconds which could be spent doing more productive things such as crochet knitting (or cleaning out your sink unit) tick on by, you’ll feel yourself die a little more inside. This film was dull, ignorant, clichéd and fruitless. I’m a massive fan of the series, but honestly? Save yourself the £7.50 ticket to buy your Muslim friend her first bra, or perhaps a tour of the outside from your car window. Apparently, she’d/he’d be eternally thankful!
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