The reason "Sex and the City" was such an outstanding hit on HBO--and in reruns--remains the average program length of under an hour plus the affinity for commercials. Adding the star quality of the four heroines and you get success on the TV screen but a decided lack of punch when blown across a wide screen theater wall. And like much of life and sex, even the best performances are difficult to sustain for well over two hours or to be exact, 148 minutes (not to mention the eight trailers one is forced to endure before the cuteness begins).
In case you missed it, the plot is: A New York (read Manhattan) writer on love and sex is finally getting married to her Mr. Big. But Carrie’s three best girlfriends must console her after one of them inadvertently leads Mr. Big to jilt her on the way to a wedding in the New York Public Library. After sitting through this flick my complete understanding went to Mr. Big, who really did the right thing, and must report that cell phones are not all they’re cracked up to be.
The only star in the movie is Candice Bergen who plays Enid Frick, the editor of "Vogue" magazine--she is outstanding but after she enters and leaves you still have 143 minutes of bad acting, overblown sets, impossible fashions, and a salute to handbag style that pretty well spells the end of life as we know it for the wallet crowd.
Manhattan is king but watching Carrie stuff herself, her lime-green bird headdress, and her wedding dress into a taxi, reminds one that when she eventually opens the cab door and steps out on the street, the director missed his bets when she wasn't followed by five clowns and a penguin.
My best advice is to follow the many lessons in the movie and when staying at any five-star Mexican honeymoon resort, don’t drink the shower water.