Hey, does everyone remember a little show on a humble cable network called Sex and the City? It's hard to remember, but I think it was about premature ejaulations, threesomes, bad-tasting jizz, impotence, and prostitution? Something like that. I think I used to really like that show. Then it started to air on the network responsible for Dawson's Creek and One Tree Hill and for murdering Veronica Mars, and all the good parts got cut out, and Bible Belt women everywhere started watching and rushed out to buy Louis Vuitton purses at their local Walmart. This movie, I'm sure, was made for them. I won't bore anyone by reviewing the movie itself, but I will review the sex content of this movie. The fashion-to-fucking ratio of this movie is very, very disappointing. You will see way more shoes than you will sex. Way more outlandish outfits than acrobatic positions. Yes, Kim Catrall is in the movie, but she might as well have donned a habit and asked How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria for how tame her escapades were. Of the three sets of tits we've already seen, only Cynthia Nixon is brave enough to show hers again. And while her tits are certainly nothing to sneeze at, if I wanted to watch a fade-to-black/happy-afterglow film starring a ridiculous wavy-haired woman, I would have taken my grandma to see a Julia Roberts flick.
RATING: 19%
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1 comment:
I remember when I first saw this tv show I thought there sure wasn't enough nudity for its name.
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