Season Faux: Review of Sex and the City

Season Faux: Review of Sex and The City

For anyone who has missed the hype, "Sex and the City" is an American
television sitcom revolving around the sex lives of four single women
in New York City. If you imagine the "Carry On" films and remove the
humour, you'll have a good idea of what this thing is like. "Dreck: The
Final Load" might be a good working title for the feature film version
(God spare us, please!).

Let's take a look at the cast and characters.

Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) writes a newspaper column called Sex and
the City, thus providing what might laughingly be called a story thread
for the series. She comes across a lot like Kenneth Williams in drag,
but only after removing his acting ability, comic timing, and sex
appeal. There is an air of New York neurotic about her that rings true
up to a point, but I just don't care what happens to her. Even her
shagalogues are boring.

Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is the brazen hussy of the lot, and by far the
best looking. She is also a reasonably competent comic actress, sadly
constrained by anemic writing. Ms Cattrall has been all over the
British media like a bad rash for weeks, trying to justify the series
on intellectual grounds. Well, good for her, I say, but comedy is
supposed to be funny, and this isn't. Hence, one might suggest, the
need for an intellectual justification.

Let's take a closer look at one of last night's double episodes.

Samantha finds herself panting after a priest, whom upon first sight
she names "Friar Fuck." He wants no part of this, so Samantha spends
the afternoon in her flat holding her own, as it were, and then
describes the experience to her three "gal pals" at dinner. They, of
course, are then obliged to spill their own fantasies. Now, this set-up
had a lot of potential, but nothing happened. It could have been funny,
but it failed. It was the functional equivalent of a 4 year old boy
saying "wee wee" for the first time and giggling behind his hand. That
might be funny to his parents or to the other little boys in the
neighborhood, but only the first time, not every week for four
seasons.

Let's move along to Charlotte, the so-called the romantic. I won't say
much about this character because she really doesn't exist. She is
intended as a foil for the gung-ho social rebels and avante-gardistes
who are her gal pals. Instead, she comes across as a character from
David Lynch's old "Twin Peaks" series (complete, no less, with Kyle
McLaughlin as her sometimes impotent husband). Wrong character. Wrong
show.

And now we come to Miranda the lawyer. Having lived in or near New York
City for nearly 20 years, I can state with absolute certainty that
Miranda is real. There are many thousands of real Mirandas in New York
and hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, all across America. I have
personally met many dozens of Mirandas. You can also find them in
London, both the American original and the British clone versions. So
let's take a closer look at Miranda.

Miranda is a successful thirtysomething partner in a New York City law
firm. Unfortunately, that's just about all she is. Like the Man in the
Grey Flannel Suit of the 1950's, she defines herself in terms of her
work, her success at work, and the fact that she is more successful at
work than most of the men she meets. At first she is very proud. After
all, she has triumphed over men on their own battlefield, she believes.
She asks herself, where is the prize? Then she asks herself, what is
the prize? As the years wear on, her success increasingly looks like a
hollow victory. She wonders if there is a prize. Her inner monologue
goes something like this: "I don't need a man. I want a man. And I
don't want just any man. I deserve more and better. Where are all the
good ones? No one is good enough. I demand better. You, sir, are not
worthy of me. I've waited far too long to settle for the likes of you.
I'd rather be alone anyway. I don't need a man. I want a man. (repeat
loop)" Let's take a closer look at Miranda in her native habitat.

Miranda is in the health club, power walking and working up a sweat. A
quite handsome guy, also in workout garb, approaches Miranda. He tells
her he's been watching her for a couple of months, trying to work up
the nerve to ask her out on a date. He says he thinks she is beautiful.
The guy sounds sincere, and as it turns out, he is sincere. Miranda is
non-plused, but agrees to the date. Before the date, we see Miranda
with her gal pals relating this story, expressing amazement that anyone
would think she is beautiful. She says something along the lines of
"guys might be attracted to my intelligence or sense of humor, but at
best, and only much later, they might think I'm cute." The others
assure her that she should stop thinking and just go on the date. As a
viewer I'm asking myself if there could possibly be anyone so dense
that they could not anticipate the outcome of this little
adventure.

Maranda and Mr. Work-Out, let's call him, have their date. Nothing
special, no heavy romance, it's just a first date. He never calls her
again. They still see each other at the health club, but they don't
speak. After a week of this, Miranda approaches the guy looking for
clarification. "I've been wondering why you haven't called. I was
thinking of calling you, but I wasn't sure what to do. Do you want to
get together again, or am I making a big fool of myself here?"

The guy says: "You were right. I'm not interested in seeing you again."
Miranda is stunned. How can this guy go from thinking I'm beautiful and
sexy one day to never wanting to talk to me again the next day, she's
thinking. What happened? She asks. His response is a classic and the
only good line in the whole show. He says: "We were sitting on the
couch and, well, you know, you just seem a little full of yourself."
Miranda walks away in total disbelief and confusion.

I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

At last, the truth.