Daniel Holloway said on Huffington Post last week:
"...I now look forward to Carrie Bradshaw's big screen debut about as much as I look forward to the day when I arrive in hell and am told David Spade is my roommate."
I have to admit that I share some of his sentiments, especially as regards to the intertwined areas of the aesthetics and economic practices the show seemed to extol on a regular basis. As we are within spitting distance of a recession -- and the price of a gallon a milk is quickly approaching that of a pair of my Payless shoes -- how relevant is a "Sex In The City" movie right now?
I think "Sex In The City" fostered an unrealistic portrait for women working in NYC to aspire to, especially if they weren't pulling over $70,000 a year. I think "Sex In The City" is responsible for a fair amount of credit card debt run by women who felt that, like Carrie Bradshaw, they should be wearing expensive designer shoes on their bullshit salaries -- because they have to enjoy life, dammit!
I blew $100 on a purse a few months ago, though I could ill-afford it. And to the "Sex In The City" aesthetic, that's still a cheap bag. Carrie Bradshaw wouldn't wipe her ass with a $100 handbag.
And then there are all the episodes where Carrie learns that "it's better to be alone." Oh, those fun episodes!
"Table for two, madam?"
"No. For one. I'm treating myself this time."
Of course, maybe the real thing that consoled Carrie Bradshaw about being alone and unmarried was that it reduced the danger of her getting pregnant and having to share all the money she was spending on those Manolo Blahniks on a friggin' baby. Because once you have another mouth to feed, even on that magical columnist's salary she was apparently pulling down, things change.
But isn't this always the way with TV shows? Take "Friends," for example. Another show I couldn't stand. Once again we have the magical salaries that allow the protagonists to have perfectly designed wardrobes and apartments. Sure, they had to take in roommates. But they were rooming with Courtney Cox & Matt LeBlanc. Wouldn't you take on a share with Courtney or Matt? Where's the sacrifice? I mean, if your roomie was a bi-polar piano teacher on disability who smelt like cat pee, that's a sacrifice.
Where were all the common, everyday hells for Carrie or Rachel or Joey? The shitty packed subway ride in from Brooklyn, filled with downtrodden angry people who will throw their heads back and emit primal yells of discontentment as you accidentally jostle them with your shitty $100 handbag that you could ill afford?
That's the television show I'd like to see be turned into a movie. My daily train ride.