“Sex And The City”
3 stars ***
Sunday at 9 on HBO
I HAVE friends who act just like the women on “Sex And The City.” Only thing is none of them are straight women. In fact, none of them are women. And most of them aren’t straight.
Whatever else they are, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda aren’t the kind of women you’d really want to have as girlfriends – well, not if you’re a woman at any rate.
Hell, you wouldn’t even want to have dinner with them. For one thing, they weigh 14 pounds apiece, and yet spend inordinate amounts of time drinking Cosmos and eating lunch and dinner. If I had girlfriends like this, I’d be 1,400 pounds in no time, and they’d drop me for not being thin enough to fit into a banquette.
For another thing, they always say “gal.” Who the hell says “gal” in 2002? They sound like Dale Evans.
So, when you think about it, Carrie and company have no choice but to be friends with each other, because who else could tolerate them?
The fact that I don’t like them, has nothing to do with the fact that I wouldn’t miss a word of what they say – or miss a minute of what they do. And neither would any of my girlfriends because, really, no matter how bad your own life is, it seems a big improvement over theirs.
But it wasn’t always this way. It used to be that these four women had the world (the city, and several other things) in the palms of their hands. Then last year they started looking slightly desperate and a bit crazed.
But the season wasn’t finished exactly, so HBO has them back for six new episodes starting Sunday night to finish up last season’s shenanigans.
Miranda is still pregnant. Carrie and Aidan (John Corbett) are moving in together. Charlotte and Trey (Kyle MacLachlan) still haven’t regained that loving feeling. And Samantha is still a big pig. (Did you ever notice that Carrie is the sex columnist, but Samantha is the one having all the dirty sex? I figure it’s to keep viewers from turning off to the lead character.)
So, here’s the dilemma – do I tell you what happens or do you want to watch it yourself?
Well, I’ll tell you some of it without giving away any surprises, but skip to the sports section if you don’t even want to know even this much.
Carrie, more like the woman we used know and understand, is baaack, with a full blown commitment anxiety.
Miranda isn’t the most heart-warming pregnant woman – and in fact is downright idiotic for a smart woman. Desperate as she is to have meaningless sex, she wonders whether a penis can dent a fetus. Where has she been living – under a burqa?
Charlotte has to come to grips with the fact that Trey has no interest in babies – and particularly no interest in having one of his own. Then he gives her the world’s most inappropriate present under the circumstances.
Samantha, who must have built-in knee pads, is down on her knees again. Only this time it’s her boss, a Donald Trump type (James Remar) and she’s worried that she’s feeling (God forbid!) love.
Yes, I still love the show. I especially love that Mario Cantone, my favorite comedian, is back as the queen of queens.
Yes, I was glued to the screen for all six episodes. But I’m worried. I just don’t know at what point the show’s going to either have to go mundane (they all get married) or sad (they are lonely older women having meaningless sex as opposed to hip, single women having meaningless sex).
In the old sitcoms, when the baby of the family hit puberty and was no longer adorable, they adopted a new and adorable kid. It’s not like Carrie & Co. can adopt a 27-year-old friend who is fabulous.
Stay tuned. Like you wouldn’t no matter what I said.