Flabby. That's perhaps the last adjective you would use to describe Sex and the City. The HBO series about four friends who live and love in Manhattan was a cultural milestone in American television. The wit was razor sharp; the bond between the women was emotionally convincing; and the fashions were absolutely fabulous. Govind Nihalani once described Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jeyenge as a believable fantasy. Sex and the City was exactly that. For millions of women across the globe, Carrie Bradshaw and her friends became extended family. Four years after the series ended, we have the movie, which picks up the threads of their lives. They are older but not necessarily wiser. Each one is negotiating a minefield, whether of love, marriage, motherhood or career. Of course they do this, dressed from head to toe, in designer labels. But while the series managed to be both superbly stylish and emotionally authentic, the movie is long and largely vacuous. There are a few lump-in-the-throat moments but these are sandwiched between layers of inane girlie conversations and unending product placements.Sex and the City is essentially a shopping catalogue. The scenes and dialogue feel like an after-thought. The plot is so loose and meandering that I wondered if writer-director Michael Patrick King simply threaded together three television episodes. The Indian release has its own peculiar problem of abrupt cuts. Sex and the City is an R rated movie, in which most of the leads bare their breasts and plenty of male buttocks are on display. Our censors of course have hacked out all the offending bits. Still I consider Sex and the City significant because it portrays the lives and struggles, airbrushed of course, of women in their 40s and 50s. The men are junior artistes. I just wish they had spent as much time on the writing as they did on the styling. This one is recommended viewing only for die-hard fans of the series. .
Pics: Sex And The City: An extravaganza