Sunday, June 06, 2010


The interactive trailer

I was supposed to go to the supermarket.

But I thought what the heck, it's Saturday, and I deserved some time off - not to mention - "girl power," so even if it was to start at 6:30PM, I watched Sex and the City 2.

I didn't expect anything great in this movie. Earlier reviews say it's dragging and running on thin plot. For me, I watched it to feast my eyes on those gorgeous dresses, skirts, scarves, shoes, jewelry - stuff I'm not exactly into, especially if they're priced (with some hard-to-pronounce names) as Brian Atwood, Manolo Blahnik, Roberto Cavalli, Christian Dior, Halston, Christian Louboutin, Yves Saint Laurent, etc.

I didn't follow the series but I get to watch it once in a while. The appeal of the movie and the whole franchise is that every lady gets to identify with the four leads - Carrie Bradshaw Preston (Sarah Jessica Parker); Samantha (Kim Cattrall); Charlotte (Kristin Davis), and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon).

For me, I'm a little Samantha in the sense that I get to do things that defy the odds and reject the conventions (her flashing a pack of condoms, in her short shorts and red, sexy top in front of Arab men was a strong statement and a taboo to that country - for which critics find offensive to the Muslim community and the Islam religion - I haven't done anything like that so far);

I'm a little Charlotte that in general, I'm prude and goody-two-shoes, and at times, I thrive at the comfort of home and family (except I'm not married to a Jew and I don't have two little girls that freak me out on occasions and I would probably ask Carrie to stay in her apartment for two days for my time off);

I'm a little Miranda in the sense that many times in my career I got to rock the boat of patriarchal norm in the corporate world, for which some found me to be threatening (and instead of "sshh-ing" back and flashing the "talk-to-the-hand" sign, I instead gave the last big, cheating boss I had with stilletoe stares and said out loud how he left the elevator stink with his cigarette smoke and bodily odor, ha)

Overall, I guess, I'm more of Carrie - I write for a living (her latest book about marriage was given a negative review by the esteemed The New Yorker, which I also read from time to time - and no, I haven't written a book yet, perhaps I should consider now, something about getting dumped and winning my man back).

Unlike Carrie who had been into relationships but only loves Mr. Big (Chris Noth), I have (I believe I still have) and will always have my one-and-only Mr. Big.

Watching Noth play Mr. Big only reminded me of my own Mr. Big.

For some reason, I find them to look a bit like the same (except my own Mr. Big looks more like John Cusack);

how they suavely talk and teasingly look at you;

how, during their on-and-off relationship, he displayed his being commitment phobic but in the end ran after Carrie and married her (well he's running away for close to two months now ...);

how he asked for the weekly, two days off for some of his alone time and so for Carrie and how she realized she's hurting with it when Charlotte asked about it (yes, my own Mr. Big has his own time off with video games);

how he prefers the couch and the TV as bonding time with Carrie (although I'm not as outgoing as Carrie);

I have no ex-boyfriend Aidan that I'd kiss in a moment of passion but my own Mr. Big is still distancing himself from me; but yes, like Carrie, I keep no secrets from him, that's how I believe relationships must be;

they, I believe, decided to have a marriage without children - my own Mr. Big wanted to have little Sebastian and Tristram before; but for what he said a poisonous society he got exposed to with his current work, he decided not to have any children anymore. For someone as fond with kids, I accepted that and willing to have a married life without children - so long as I'm with my Mr. Big;

Mr. Big made himself unavailable to Carrie after her confession about Aidan; he didn't pick up Carrie from the airport; but he came home and gave her a ring with black diamond and asked Carrie to repeat after him - for Carrie not to kiss any man other than her husband, and to stop worrying that they'd be a boring, old, married couple because they will never be - I will abide by that vow.

No posh New York apartment; no black diamond; my Mr. Big not as rich as the Mr. Big in the movie - but I will love any couch and any TV in the world - and watching old, black and white movies - as long as I'm with my Mr. Big.

That was the thought that filled me until the credits rolled.

It was not about the movie or seeing the now evidently wrinkling yet still fashionable ladies, but it was about finding solace and temporary comfort in seeing parts of myself through Sex and the City 2. Yes, movies are a form of escapism.

And yes, saved by the funny and witty lines mostly from Samantha, Miranda, and on occasions Charlotte ("I don't know ..." [with matching wide-eyed awe]) Liza Minneli's Beyonce's number, and the suave and classically handsome Mr. Big, the movie was too long for more than two hours. 

That instead of bringing home food to stock for a couple of days, I missed grocery-shopping (I stepped out the movie house almost 9PM), I bought home Jollibee spaghetti and palabok instead.

I blame Sex and the City 2 for that, ha.
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