Shitty Movie Review - Sex and the City 2

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.

My review of the first Sex and the City is a personal favorite of mine for this blog, but dear god in heaven, what a price I had to pay for it. At least this time I was with friends who endured it with me. We went in with the idea of making fun of it. We immediately regretted the decision when we found out it was over two and half hours long. It was my idea.

Somehow, some way, Sex and the City 2 was an even more terrible film than its predecessor. That is an achievement. I don't think it had as much of a damaging effect on me because I knew what to expect. Either that, or my soul was destroyed the first time around, and I've lost the ability to experience feelings.

The first thing I noticed was that this film was not called Sex and the City 2: I Got It. It is not about Mr. Boyfriend struggling to keep up with the demands of his succubus master Carrie. Well, it sort of is, but not in the way I envisioned. Boyfriend (Husband?) buys Carrie a kickass flatscreen TV near the beginning. Now, the reaction of a normal human being to this should be joy. However, Carrie Bradshaw is not a human being. She is a horse. And it is a well known fact that all horses are allergic to expensive flatscreen TVs.

Carrie was pissed. Girls don't watch TV, that's what boys do, you insensitive prick. Carrie is a woman Mr. Boyfriend, and you apparently have not heard her roar: "Jewelry would've been nice." This guy should break out his Succubi 101 books again from college. Everyone knows that succubi cannot eat electronics, they must feed on a steady diet of shiny rocks and penises.

For a movie called Sex and the City, there's not really a whole lot of sex going on. Three of the four squabbling bitches are married, and they spend most of the movie away from their husbands in Abu Dhabi. That's right, Abu Dhabi. So for a movie called Sex and the City, there's not a whole lot of city either. Carrie, now married, spends the movie worrying about her and Mr. Boyfriend turning into a (gasp!) married couple. Yackity Bitch #2 feels threatened by her demonspawn's nanny, who has huge fucking knockers and refuses to wear a bra. Yackity Bitch #3 quits her job for her family I guess, but not really, because it was her business arrangements that made the trip to Abu Dhabi possible sort of? And Yackity Bitch #4, you guessed it, goes about stuffing oodles of penises inside of her.


I'm totally Yackity Bitch #2, I'm like the drama queen, you know? I think my friend read a book once, so she's the intelligent one.
Let me walk you through how they got to Abu Dhabi. Actually I don't really know, and I wish someone would tell me. Yackity Bitch #3 met someone who was not white at a nightclub. Mr. Notwhite was in fact a huge businessman in an exotic faraway country called Brownpeopleistan. The conversation went a little something like this.

Mr. Notwhite: "Hello I am Guy Businessman, and I come from an exotic faraway land totally unlike New York City.
Yackity Bitch #3: "Oooooh, exotic!"
Mr. Notwhite: I don't know you at all, but I think you should come to my land to take part in a business deal I won't describe.
Yackity Bitch #3: "How exotic and exciting! Sign me up!"
Mr. Notwhite: "Excellent. I find that nightclubs are the perfect places to find people to do these kinds of things."

The movie never explained what the hell she was actually doing in Abu Dhabi.  Not once did she ever do business of any kind, and every time business was mentioned, it was treated in much the same way as on Rifftrax:



Quick: when you were a child, what did you imagine that area of the world to be like? If you were like me, you were slightly racist because the only exposure you had to Arabia was Looney Tunes and Aladdin. That's what the Middle East is like in Sex and the City 2.  Most of the evil or stupid people they meet in Abu Dhabi act like your stereotypical Arab with thick, scruffy facial hair and heavy accents, while the friendly people they interact with look like clean shaven Westerners with little to no accent at all. Don't believe me? Here, watch this clip from the film.



I was shocked. I expected more of a film made for rich white sluts starring rich white sluts.

And if you think Sex and the City is not high brow enough for commentary on society, religion, or culture, then go fuck yourself San Diego. When The Girls (tm) saw the way other women were treated in the Middle East, they were horrified. They, like, totally saw these women around Brownpeopleistan with, like, these mask things on their faces. Men silence their voices, because that's all men do (paraphrased, but this was really said). We are so lucky that there's nothing wrong with our own superior culture where we use purity rings instead of burqas. Have some dignity, Middle East.

A couple years ago before I knew anything about Sex and the City, a girl I met explained to me that the movie's release is a lot like "the opening of Star Wars, but for women." First of all, women are allowed to like Star Wars. I don't think I've ever met a woman who doesn't like Star Wars. Second, most women I've talked to hates this series just as much as me. I can't think of a male equivalent to this. The sluts in this film literally do nothing but sit around and laugh at penis jokes. So would a male equivalent be nothing but male sluts laughing at jokes about boobies? Like Wedding Crashers or something? Wedding Crashers had a plot.

The most cringe-worthy scene from the first film was the photoshoot of Carrie in her wedding dress. This time around, it was when all four of them hopped up on stage in an Abu Dhabi nightclub and sang "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar." They really did this.



I suppose I can understand. I'm pro-feminism, I hear ya grrlz. I guess it just would've been a little out of place to get up there and recite "My Angry Vagina" for no reason in front of a bunch of drunk Muslims.

There's an important distinction between fake feminism and real feminism that I think I should go into. Sometimes people feel the need to attach themselves to causes larger than themselves. This is a good thing, and it should be encouraged. The problem is that everyone wants to do it, and not everyone has the ability to form logical opinions. When you get uninformed people trying to act like they are informed, you get fake activism. Look at any legal protest that takes place today in the United States. Chances are, four out of five people who show up to those things only do it as a form of mental masturbation. Ignore the fact that absolutely nothing is being accomplished! We're making a difference, guys!

When fake activism is translated into feminism, you get lipstick feminism. Lipstick feminists might have heard a professor talking about sex-positive feminism once. They don't understand most of it, so they just go ahead and fill in the blanks. It basically gives them an excuse to dress and act like complete whores without the guilt. I heard somebody somewhere explain this to me once, it's okay! You'll understand once you get to college!

Here's the deal. Lipstick feminism is not sex-positive feminism. If you're really shallow enough to associate sex with power, and you hold the belief that your own sexual allure has power over men, then you are forced to admit that the door swings both ways. Are you saying you don't find men sexually attractive? Are only men robbed of power when they find people attractive, but not women? You're arguing that everyone who has sexual parts is powerless, and then your fake feminism doesn't empower anyone, and it completely contradicts itself. If you're okay with that, then go right ahead you dumb slut.