Someone noted in the run up to the much advertised release of the Sex and the City movie that it would be easier finding a needle in a haystack that it would be to find a straight guy eager to see this film. Well last time I checked I was both a) a guy, and b) straight, and whilst "eager" is perhaps not the most appropriate adjective to describe the feeling in that part of my brain aware of the impending release, I was admittedly quite looking forward to it.HBOs Sex in the City aired its last episode 4 years ago and it was an unquestionably hugely successful. Smartly written and very well performed, it was a series benefiting from great casting, most notably in Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall, neither of whom had found more than limited success as actresses before Sex, and both of whom won multiple Emmy and Golden Globe nominations for their work on the series.
Costars Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davies couldn't match the charisma of the other two but both brought something to their roles and the chemistry between the four was always abundant on screen, which made the tabloid tales of infighting somewhat surprising. It was this supposed rivalry that kept the movie from happening. First mooted when the show wrapped, it has been a fairly protracted effort in bringing it to the big screen but judging by this Monday's US numbers, fans of the show have been waiting patiently and turned out in force on opening weekend.
That last episode saw Carrie and Big (and if you have no idea who Carrie and Big are you've done very well in getting this far - thanks for trying but you'll probably want to give up any time now) finally commit to a relationship with each other and the logical centrepiece for the movie was always going to be their marriage. This being 2 hours and 20 minutes as opposed to just 20, there was obviously going to be a snag along the way and you'll be hard pressed not to guess what it'll be long before the seeds of doubt are sown into the plot. Like the vast majority of the TV episodes, the film completely focuses on Carrie and, like the vast majority of the TV episodes it is all the better for it. Nixon and Davis try and give their scenes some gravitas: Nixon succeeds, Davis fails - particularly with an embarrassing "No, no" wail at Big; Cattrall rather more effortlessly makes her scenes hugely enjoyable. She was always the comic focus of the show but wasn't always quite as funny as she is here.
Seeing it in LA with a packed theatre was an experience in itself. Sitting next to my girlfriend was a very small dog who had either been smuggled in by the SITC-cast-member-wannabe or who was such a big fan of the show that he didn't want to miss the big screen version. The human members of the audience were very vocal. Whoops of delight greeted the opening credits, cheers and tears met the closing credits and generous laughter and applause lauded even the slightest of jokes. To be fair the film is successfully humorous - Samantha once again gets all the best lines, like she always has, but then Cattrall did always have the best comic timing of all the cast. A line about Samantha being last happy 6 long months ago and "that being quite good for LA" went down particularly well with the hard-bitten West Coast crowd. It was not hard to discern that the movie did everything these people were expecting and that they collectively gave it a very hearty thumbs up. I don't mind admitting I agree with their verdict.
Michael Patrick King, who writes and directs, has a surefire hit on his hands because he has essentially just filmed an extended episode of a show that was a huge success. If it ain't broke, don't fix it they say. It wasn't and he hasn't tried to. Fans of this will lap it up and everyone else will probably not watch it anyway. The opening credits serve as a "here is what you missed" for anyone dragged along but really this is quite unapologetically not a film for them. This is for those that wanted to wear the Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos of the characters, to engage in adult sex talk in swanky NY clubs or to fantasise about dating rich guys who'll buy you a penthouse Manhattan apartment at the drop of a hat. Which one of those fantasies was the reason I watched? The Jimmy Choos obviously.
B
3 comments:
You only gave it a B?
Well, that's not the impression I got when you wanted to go Jimmy Choo shopping straight afterwards?! And, they weren't for me I might add!
Well, here's what I think stinkybum...it might add a touch of class to your website....
“Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with,” Carrie’s quandary.
“Absofuckinglutely” delicious. A splendid word coined by the Vivienne Westwood clad deity herself when she dropped Manolo Blahnik’s first into a New York yellow bug and catwalked onto our screens and into our hearts forever more. Carrie Bradshaw, femme fatale/ girl next door with marmite looks seduced us four years ago with her unbridled quest for the real deal: love in its rawest state. No foiling, concealing, inhibiting, masquerading. As pussy lost its footing, we have loved every minute of being titillated and teased with every series that has gone by up to this, the final climax: Sex and the City: The Movie. Will the fairytale princess have her happily ever after?
Sex and The City was originally a man’s vision to profit on an untapped margin in the industry. Darren Star, yes, a male writer, made the best career decision of his life in choosing to cast Sarah Jessica Parker (so globally mega is she that a mere three initials are all that is required) as lead and as a producer. Not wanting to overhaul what is no doubt a very well honed male mind, very much “in touch,” a woman’s mind is needed to represent a woman’s mind. The ribald saltiness of it all needs to be tempered with intelligent emotion, otherwise, let’s face it, it’s just porn. The novelty of which, depending on the blood pressure of the viewer, would be short lived. By intelligent emotion I do of course mean emotion that is logically illogical. Put simply, it’s dirty. Messy. Lovely to know you’re not alone stuff. Star’s vision to make each show like a mini movie is desirably different and has made T.V history. It adds to the glamour and allows for each ‘can of worms’ point to be studied under a microscope, no holds barred (well, for Samantha anyway).
It’s the writing that makes this show a success. A fairytale princess who wears Oscar de la Renta and Manolo’s to fight dragons and comes out of each dosage of the poisoned apple a little bit tougher, sassier and blonder! Unafraid to get her manicured mits messy, SJP tarts up her life whilst remaining unquestionably moral throughout (yes, she does feel guilty about the affair and admits it straight away!) As artful voyeurs we are intrigued by her almost mystical ability to not only combine stripes with spots, black with blue and pink with red, but her mesmerising feistiness. In essence the shows success lies in its ability to allow the viewer to live their life vicariously through Carrie. Not stunning, arguably not even beautiful, but SJP’s imperfections are exactly what make her perfect. She is attainable. Each and every girl sees themselves in Carrie, and for the duration of each episode and for a short time afterwards, is able to find solace in the knowledge that it’s sexy to be alone. Who needs men when you have girlfriends. While relationships with men may be charged and difficult, relationships with your girlfriends leave you recharged and inspired. New York City becomes any city and Carrie Bradshaw becomes any girl. Sassy, clever and hot on the Blahnik heels of a teeming, busy life.
“What if Snow White had never showed up? Would Snow White have slept in that glass coffin forever? Or would she have eventually woken up, spit out the apple, got a job, a health care package, and a baby from her local neighbourhood sperm bank? I couldn’t help but wonder: inside every confident, driven single woman, is there a fragile princess just waiting to be saved?” Carrie’s quandary.
Is that what happens to Carrie at the end of this movie? Is she a princess saved? I have my reservations. I watched this film in L.A which certainly sexed it up. By defintion, it was glammed up by my popcorn partner being a little pooch poodle zipped into a Gucci bag who every time I looked at him was staring, tongue gasping, at the film. Was he just terribly thirsty being torturously locked ( in an albeit 100% deluxe lined) bag or was Star really so in tune with this audience that he consciously catered to the canine rampants among us? In that case, I can’t even begin to say that I tap into that head space. Even that’s too far out there for me.
I do wonder, however, if the monstrous budget for this film made everybody a little too designer hungry and a little plot starved? And, why, after all of these years that we have unfailingly devoted to our Queen, did she swallow the bride gene only to compromise on the white wedding that we are entitled to at birth. What sort of a prince lets the love of his life shelf a Vivienne Westwood couture white wedding (that was offered FREE) for no label city hall. What sort of a friend excludes her best friends from witnessing their celebration. I couldn’t help but wonder: inside every confident, driven single woman, is there a fragile princess just waiting to be used? Natasha’s quandary.
Perhaps I’m still on the edge of reason. I’m the 26 year old girl versus the forty something woman. What do I know. She has realised that when entering into a marriage, a union with someone, it should just be about them. Her friends are not excluded, just waiting to join in the celebrations once the vows are complete. And, Miranda being silently bullied to forgive her cheating husband is actually forging a rite of passage into forgiveness and maturity? Will I ever have such rose tinted spectacles. Not for now, I rather like my dark, cynical Missoni’s. So, did Star and Parker want to burst my bubble with a spiky Manolo Blahnik? Tell me I am still in the valley of the twenty somethings screaming “I’d rather do it myself” rather than swallow that old Charlotte York rule of women really just want to be rescued? Perhaps. Or do they just want to say that what is perfectly imperfect is imperfectly perfect. Like the protagonist. SJP is no model, but she is ethereal in our eyes. She is like no other. Isn’t that true? Absofuckinglutely.
Love Natasha NottinghillbillyX
Tags: Carrie Bradshaw, Darren Star, L.A, Sarah Jessica Parker, Sex and the City
Yours is a much better review than mine - you should write more! I'd be interested in a Lust, Caution review since Matt is writing one right now. Would be an interesting comparison.
And I'm floating between a B and a B+. Tricky.
Here you go.....
Lust, Caution
It is of course the difficulty of the character's names that led me to Wikipedia. Little did I know that it would be the film's name, the symbolism of which I thought quite apparent (Caution: Lust?), that would prove difficult. The reason I start this review of Ang Lee's espionage thriller in this way is because armed with what I considered to be the most powerful tool, the English Language, I find myself completely compromised. For, across a huge land mass and two seas, quite a lot has been lost in translation. Lust, Caution in the original Chinese has a more apparent meaning of Colour Ring which allegorically refers to the pink diamond ring that is given to Mr Yee's mistress, shy virgin come femme fatale, Wong Chia Chi, moments before embroiled in a lust/love conflict she saves Mr Yee from death. Another meaning is lust, which in Shangainese dialect is also a homophone of lost. Yes, lost on us. And, so it is that the colour ring grows in importance as the pivotal moment that lust requires caution. A moment when Chia Chi's vulnerability becomes as raw as the pink and as precious as the diamond. But at the same time, Lee seems to have it all under control, "In Chinese literature the art is the hiding. But movies are another animal. It’s a graphic tool."
This film is based on a short story by Eileen Chang, about Japanese occupied Shangai and Hong Kong and the musty setting aptly portrays Communist China in a war torn setting. A musty, sleepiness not too dissimilar to the feelings of walking into two Communist countries on my travels last year: Vietnam and indeed China. Smoky, secretive: a perfect setting for emotion, female identity, lust and love to be concealed by the smoke of macho war. A topic which is dangerous and extremely brave to attempt. It took Eileen Chang two decades to voice this, and it took Ang Lee four months. As a Taiwanese, he has full respect for Chinese conservatism, but is also driven by his love of art and this potential for a 'graphic tool' to recreate this small female voice, this drop in the ocean in a man's war. Love, after all, is his most powerful tool. It won him best director for Brokeback Mountain with love as an unattainable ideal. When comparing Brokeback and Lust, Caution he says, ‘Brokeback’ is about a lost paradise, an Eden, but this one — it’s down in the cave, a scary place. It’s more like hell.' Love is as shiny and attractive as a pink-coloured diamond ring. It is artful and thus powerful. Like the power of Lee's art in visually setting up scenes that titillate, seduce, surrender and confound you. We look and we judge the puppet government, but we are the puppets mesmerised by Lee's ability to transcend art into real life; and into real love. For, although I have quarms about the art of language 'lost' to us, such extreme editing of the film prior to release in China, means that the art of cinematography that can so readily lend itself to capturing words in picture is 'lost' to them. Together, it is a perfect piece. But, as the very title suggests, this is a film very much in two pieces. There is no caution in lust. The bold comma separates them, and keeps them firmly in their place.
The young Chia Chi, virginal and pure, with an uninspired look, meets Kuang Yu Min at University (an educated threat to the powers that be) and joins his underground theatre troupe that champion a unified China. (In my mind, the film recalls current underground factions in Burma that are still using theatre as propaganda). Living in the plays as though they are real, Kuang insights a piece de resistance, of a literal nature, encouraging the troupe to step out of their thespian outfits and put on their superhero ones. To enlarge the stage into the big wide world. (Oh how far (cynical) we have come (become): The Butterfly Effect. Far from causing a hurrican in Japan, the theatre troupe all but make a dent in the iron system.)
Kuang sets Chia Chi up as a seductress to woo the national traitor, Mr Yee. Having abandoned China for Japanese blood money, he works in the collaborationist government. Mr Yee's story is told through his eyes. A man who lives in the shadows of life. His wife, with perfectly rouged lips and coiffed hair plays her mahjong cards close to her chest. She is a quiet nonentity, whose life provides a conventional formality to Mr Yee's otherwise dark and desperate life. Dissatisfied, he yearns for something that makes him too feel alive. Chia Chi is chosen to penetrate Mr Yee's circle, and pull him into a place where he can be assassinated by the resistance. With sensitive un-erotic charm, Chia Chi the virgin is taught, in languid, lurid fashion, the business of sex. In what are very dry scenes, the only member of the group with any sexual experience (cultured from prostitutes) moves inside Chia Chi with about as much enthusiasm as a husband watching his wife try on the same dress for the fifteenth time. Superbly dry; ticklingly tart.
A moment that has pictorially stuck in my mind is when Mrs Yee rings Chia Chi, and on picking up the receiver, the theatre troupe, framed in the background, sit motionless with teacups, spoons and bowls hovering at their lips. Back to the foreground, Chia Chi is told that they are leaving to go back to Shanghai. In a series of swift scenes, that show the rollercoaster ride that they have embarked on, death is labeled murder. After a collaborationist agent foils their plot, they realise, in true Hitchcockian fashion, how difficult it is to kill someone with a knife, and the fretful situation renders them even more vulnerable to the situation they have snowballed into.
Three years later, after hiding out, Kuang enlists Chia Chi’s help again. We are further drawn into a complicated mess of emotional conflict in political conflict. Luring him in, the first carnal (I refrain here from using intimate) moment with Chia Chi is a power struggle. As Chia Chi tries to seduce Mr Yee, psychologically maintaining a barrier to this as a job, Mr Yee seizes control and forcefully pushes, slaps, punches and wrestles her down onto the bed, grabbing her by the hair and forcing her down into a submissive position so that he takes her, predatorially, from behind. After witnessing executions and murders, ferreting out other assassin lovers-he fears her, and is excited by this fear while in control. The girl cries out in pain, the actress gives a small smirk. Her mind and heart remain locked inside. But for how much longer? Like boxers in a ring, the two fight for control, control, that is, of their minds. Neither wants to let themselves go, to fall, cautionless in lust, in love. At the same time, they very much want to feel alive and in order to ‘feel’ one has to let go, to jump. As we are swallowed into Mr Yee's sallow and hungry eyes, empty for lust, for love, for a desire to feel alive, we empathise with Chia Chi's outburst to Kuang and an older member of the resistance, Old Wu. She presses them to carry out the assassination soon for her emotions are entangled in such a web of confusion that she doubts she can maintain her sanity in the mission much longer. Suddenly, you find yourself looking at Mr Yee and Chia Chi as two hearts lost in a sea of politics and corruption, of real flesh and blood people, and the two resistance leaders as wilfull but heartless soldiers, Machiavellian in their mission. And, when Kuang kisses Chia, you recoil in horror at yet another man trying to use her. “Why didn’t you do that three years earlier?” Why, indeed? Is it because another man has claimed his patch, that now he wants to piss on it too. Let her walk away dripping in his scent? Why does Wu want her to spare him the complicated details of the violent sex? Of the reality that she has become entangled in a web of not knowing whether she is the spider and he is the fly or the other way around? Because, that would make it all too real for him. He summarises masculine attitudes in a shell, a suicide pill is tucked under her collar should she be found out. This is escapism, but for who? Who is afraid to reveal their true identity here? Who are the actors and actresses? Which is the true face and which is the mask?
In the end, Chia Chi saves Mr Yee by telling him to go as they are sat in a jewellery shop swarmed with his assassinators. Why does she save him in the end? It is all to easy for masculine attitudes to claim that she is presented as an Eve figure who can bring about the downfall of man; as woman portrayed in her best role: conniving and deceitful-sidekick of the savvy snake, or even woman as willing victim to her own degradation.
Mr Yee runs, safe, back to his home, back to the shadows. He orders the assassination of the theatre troupe and the lingering image at the end of the film is his shadow cast over Chia Chi’s bed. A dark matter of guilt following him wherever he walks. It is a poignant and tragic tale of trying to feel love, and when they reached out to touch it, the reality was that it wasn’t real. It was a trap. A play on an enlarged stage. They hungrily craved each other, lusted after each other’s bodies, but there was nothing there to hold at the end. Just an illusion. A shadow.
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