There has already been a lot of talk about this second Sex and the City film along the lines of whether the franchise is feminist, pre-feminist, post-feminist, not feminist, was feminist once, for ten minutes, but didn’t like it, or pre- and post-feminist, in which case, it’s probably best to leave them to fight it out.
There has already been a lot of talk about this second Sex and the City film along the lines of whether the franchise is feminist, pre-feminist, post-feminist, not feminist, was feminist once, for ten minutes, but didn’t like it, or pre- and post-feminist, in which case, it’s probably best to leave them to fight it out. As Professor Susan Lipstein of the International School of Sex and the City Studies told me, ‘I’m minded to say it’s only a bit of fun, get a life, but I don’t want to talk myself out of a job, so instead I’ll say: buying handbags is always empowering, except in those instances when it’s not. Can I go now? I’m pooped.’ Actually, it may be there is only one question about Sex and the City and that question is this: is it still fun and amusing? It’s not: does it shave its legs? It’s: does it still have legs?
OK, I’m not going to go into all the girls and all their traits because if you know them you know them and if you don’t by now, then I’m guessing it’s not your thing. I understand that it’s not everybody’s thing. I think I saw Mark Kermode being dragged into the screening, sobbing and shouting, ‘No, no, don’t make me!’ Firstly, I do feel obliged to tell you it is way, way too long. It is two hours and 27 minutes which is far, far too long for anything unless you are flying from London to southern Spain.
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