I finally watched the Sex and the City movie last night. (I'm apparently a little behind all women in America, so I'm guessing most of you have already seen this or at least know the general plot.) I'm still trying to decide how I feel about it. There were some scenes where it was simply unbelievable to me. (**SPOILER ALERT**) Like when Carrie beats Big up with her bouquet. It just seemed so drastic. After talking him through having the wedding the night before, she suddenly becomes bridezilla the next day. Clearly, the movie needed the twist to make it last more than a half hour, but it felt forced. Also, as much as I love the idea that Carrie could afford to own a 1,000-square-foot apartment in a good part of New York and have a closet full of $500 designer shoes and who-knows-how-expensive designer clothing with near-nightly outings to expensive restaurants and bars all on a writer's salary, I just can't quite believe it. Okay, maybe I could believe that by this point in her career she could afford it, but this was her lifestyle throughout the whole show. Perhaps it's just the jealousy talking.
I'm still up in the air about the way they used the exact same conversations three or so different times for completely different topics. I think I like it. In fact, there were a few times where I thought it was brilliant. I just can't decide it if was overdone. Hell, it's a movie, meant purely for entertainment. I was entertained. We'll say I liked it.
One thing that I loved about the film were the sets. The clothing I could take or leave (most of it leave--I guess I'm just not that high-fashion); but the decor in the apartments made me lust for my own place, a couple hundred thousand in my savings account, and an interior designer. I turned off the TV and looked around with fresh eyes at my white-matte walls and outdated pictures and wanted to change everything (which is very hard with an apartment manager that won't let you paint). My dilapidated furniture should be replaced with trendy, expensive pieces, my hand-me-down desk needs an upgrade, my bedroom needs an overhaul, and my kitchen...sigh. Okay. Reality. I love my bookcases, for all that they would never be seen in a trendy apartment. I love that I have all these things, dilapidated or not, and am not living in poverty. I love that I'm following my dreams and I know the money will follow. I'd just really like to have a super fancy dinner out and return home to a place that had been cheerfully redone by my fairy designer godmother. Is that too much to ask?