Make It End

I wasted two and a half hours of my life this afternoon watching a movie from my sofa.

I loved the series. I was lukewarm about the first movie. So, when the sequel was released, I decided I'd skip the theater. Even though I thought the first movie kind of wrapped up the series, I just couldn't imagine the second movie making me fall back in love with these ladies.

I found them a little sad in the first movie - not just because Carrie spends much of it moping. Let's face it. These ladies have it all, they just don't appreciate it. How sorry can one feel for ladies who never have to choose between a new pair of Louboutins or food?

Warning: this could be a bit spoilery. Stop reading NOW if you haven't seen the movie!

Still, I decided to watch the second movie - skeptically microwaving popcorn while the rental DVD forced me to watch previews for even more ridiculous chick flicks (seriously, why can't I forward through these?). I flinched as Liza Minelli butchered "Single Ladies." I rolled my eyes when Samantha pulled out a box of pills and explained she was reversing menopause with help from Suzanne Somers. I let the fashionable ladies slide for a while with their complaints about the new UAE and its old ways of treating (or mistreating) women. But after an hour and a half, I had enough. Here was what broke me:

Lawrence of my labia.

This whole "let's make everything punny so we can avoid actually writing good dialogue" business made me feel like a sucker. Still, I decided to see it through. Singing "I Am Woman" in a karaoke bar - ugh. Wait. Mere seconds later, a super hot guy comes over and introduces himself as Rikard Spirit. Samantha responds with "Dick Spirit." He asks, "Could you be any more American?" Oh, yes. Yes, she could. She is so stereotypically American that I see one more reason for al Qaeda to hate us.

There's more.

Carrie's new book about marriage was reviewed by The New Yorker, which included a drawing of her with tape over her mouth. I only wish I could have done the at-home equivalent and pushed eject on my DVD player. No. I had to see this whole mess out. Even when Carrie said she was having a "mid-wife crisis," I sat on my hands to keep them from reaching for the remote.

And, can I just ask, who leaves for a week-long vacation and can't pack to return home in an hour? Yes, I get that these ladies had multiple changes, but the shoes alone had to have been stashed in the largest of Louis Vuitton vintage bags! The excess displayed during this film was beyond dreamy. It was offensive. These ladies aren't young anymore! I doubt The Golden Girls would have used a quarter of the luggage for a month-long old lady cruise. You know something? They would have also brought the funny - something these four New York girls seem to have lost in the translation from small screen to big screen.

I hope that the final scene, where Carrie and Big are watching an old black and white movie that closes with "The End" is the true end of this nonsense. I won't give a third movie space in my Netflix queue. I might not even look for it on HBO.

Yes, I'm late to the game on this movie. But, you know what? I don't feel like I've missed anything. Not even these four ladies. They can keep their estrogen cream. I'll take a movie that doesn't make me cranky.