The only way to explain my admiration for “Sex and the City 2” is to unfortunately reveal key plot moments and lay out much of the final act in spoiler-iffic Technicolor. This is not about justifying myself but instead to defend writer/director Michael Patrick King, who’s currently being savaged in certain parts of the media over this, his second feature based on the popular HBO series. A series I was not a fan of.
Some of the criticism is fair. Some of it is not. But we begin with a sentence I never thought I’d write: “Sex and the City 2” is a subversively patriotic, anti-Islamist fairy tale that ultimately comes down on the side of traditional values, and its creator, Michael Patrick King, has more guts than most everyone working at his level in the film industry today.
***BIG SPOILERS COMING***
Samantha (Kim Cattrell) has always been my least favorite SATC character. She’s obsessed with sexuality, specifically her own, and the only thing more tedious than exploring human sexuality are those obsessed with doing so. This boorish preoccupation with all things getting laid is really nothing more than self-indulgence, but with an ick factor.
Today, however, the proudly promiscuous Samantha is my new hero. And so is director King.
One of the film’s better plotlines (there are four and only two really work) involves the brazenly sexual Samantha having to deal with a cultural environment that frowns upon and feels threatened by a woman unafraid to admit she enjoys sex and eager to troll for it by showing off her admirably toned figure. In cowardly hands, the fish-out-of-water tension necessary to pay this idea off would’ve been set in some beautiful southern city like Savannah, where the old trope of stuffy fundamentalist Christians would’ve been trotted out without so much as an eyebrow arch of outrage from the progressive press. King not only avoids this tired, unfair cliché, he goes so far as to take his fashionable foursome to the Middle East where he intends to make an effectively damning statement about the oppression of women at the hands of Islamic Nazis.
Director Michael Patrick King
Samantha has spent the better part of her working vacation in Abu Dhabi being told by her PC friends, especially the uptight Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), to cover up her body – even by the pool – and to behave appropriately so as not to offend a culture that keeps their women firmly in place under heavy black burqas. Eventually her lusty needs get the best of her and she’s arrested for openly kissing a man on the beach. Upon release, her male Arab hosts add insult to humiliation by pulling the hospitality rug out from under her. This results in a mad dash to find a lost passport. But Samantha, who’s dressed reasonably by Western standards in a modest pair of shorts, halter top and blouse, is too uncomfortable to cover herself due to hot flashes (long story) and is soon surrounded by a menacing, hostile crowd of at least fifty outraged men.
This moment isn’t played for comedy. Violence is in the air and when Samantha’s purse spills and condom packages splay everywhere, something’s got to give, and God bless her, it’s Samantha who gives it. In a rousing and hilarious act of truly courageous, feminist defiance, with one hand Samantha waves her condoms like the flag of liberty and with the other lifts the “Fuck you” finger high in the air and lets that putrid gang of Islamist thugs have it:
“That’s right, I enjoy sex! Fuck you, I like it!”
A little later, back in America and with red, white and blue fireworks exploding overhead, Samantha’s getting her brains screwed out on the hood of a jeep as Carrie’s (Sarah Jessica Parker) voice-over mentions with no small amount of appreciation, “the land of the free.”
Yes, I get misty eyed just thinking about.
You’ll never hear me argue that the Samanthas of our popular culture — women forever in search of loveless sex — are healthy role models; quite the opposite, in fact. What I will argue, however, is that in a just society Samantha has a God-given right to have as much sex as she wants with whomever she wants. You can throw hot wax, trapezes and midgets into the equation and it’s still a system infinitely morally superior to suffocating her beneath a burqa at the hands of an unjust ideology enabled by a misguided American media more concerned with offending other cultures than human rights.
For his single moment of righteous cinematic protest, director King now finds himself under fire from, among others, the USA Today for “mocking religious beliefs” and The Hollywood Reporter for being “blatantly anti-Muslim,” even though the rest of the film goes out of its way to treat the Arab world with a dignity few American Southerners receive at the hands of our Tinseltown betters these days. For starters, and most importantly, each and every Middle Eastern character – male and female — is given their humanity. Furthermore, at one point Carrie wears a star and crescent necklace. At another point she says “Thank God” to an Arab merchant and then sweetly corrects herself with “I mean, thank Allah.”
This attack on King is nothing more than a smear job, and yet another example of the entertainment media’s unholy agenda to punish and make an example of those who dare stray from Hollywood’s PC liberal orthodoxy. Would anyone like to bet more than a nickel that had King used Mormons instead of Muslims all the criticism about his being “anti-Muslim” would’ve been replaced with phrases like, “brave,” “bold,” “courageous” and “cutting edge”? I didn’t think so.
Another criticism is that the main characters wallow in shallow, crass materialism. That’s fair enough, but only half true, and as far as the other half goes, so what? We are talking about a fairy tale here. The whole idea is to live vicariously as our foursome enjoys charmed lives filled with luxurious $22,000-a-night suites, massive wardrobes, and girlish squealing over ugly shoes and gaudy jewelry. But like Cinderella’s castle this is nothing more than silly, wish-fulfilling eye candy for a story with a surprisingly traditional message.
After two years of marriage, Carrie and Big (Chris Noth) are starting to feel the cracks. She’s either nudging or outright badgering him to play dress up and hit the fancy restaurants when all he wants is to put his feet on the couch, hold her close, and watch an old movie. She whines and mopes and cajoles and bitches about his lack of “sparkle.” He bristles and suggests they take a two day vacation from each other each week. Until the final moments, the story keeps you guessing as to how this dilemma will resolve itself. Because this will be the answer to what the film is about.
What “Sex and the City 2” is about is Carrie growing-the-hell-up and coming to realize that when a marriage is firing on all cylinders it’s the simple things like take-out food and an old movie that matter most. In other words, the clothes and jewelry are fun but ultimately mean nothing if you can’t appreciate what costs the least. There’s also a final touch about the importance of fidelity and traditional diamond wedding rings that I won’t spoil. You’re welcome.
Don’t get me wrong, the film is far from perfect. At 143 minutes, it’s longish in more than a few spots and there are some off-key, cringe-worthy moments like a contrived karaoke “I Am Woman” musical number with its heart in the right place that still should’ve been cut. The story also opens rather clumsily with an overlong same-sex marriage sequence so over-the-top gay Liza Minelli makes an appearance. (For the record, anyone with the guts to take on Islamists and their apologists in the media can flack for gay marriage all he wants.)
As I mentioned in my “Kick-Ass” review, I’m not a content guy. Whatever violence, language, nudity or what-have-you a storyteller uses to tell his story is of little concern to me. These are the paints. My interest is only in the painting. Sure, shield the kids from certain kinds of content. But ultimately what matters is what a story is trying to say, not the tools used to say it with. I’ll admit to settling into “Sex and the City 2” rooting for it, just to stick it to those lowlifes in the snark-media who couldn’t wait to launch their cruel air-brushing jokes as soon as the first posters appeared. But that only gets you so far. Ultimately, for all its flaws and bad puns and draggy moments, the film’s heart, high spirits and, yes, morality, won me over.
And the fact that it isn’t in 3D.
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