Ok; the clothes are great. But that’s about as cutting edge as we get in this still genial reunion.
In what feels, essentially, like a series of episodes strung together (to ring in at almost 2 ½ hours!), the focus is on the long awaited marriage of Carrie and Mr. Big. For devotees of the show, that plot point alone is enough to sell tickets. While there are a few other stories slotted into the proceedings, never fear, Carrie has been, still is and will always be the cog of this wheel. We go from “will they get married?” to “how will they get married?” to “will they get married?” with style, a dash of wit and a series of shoes and bags to die for.
Frankly, I would have liked a bit more stiletto sharpness jabbed into the script. While Kim Cattrall’s still got her rapier timing honed, poor Kristin Davis is hardly given anything to do and Cynthia Nixon’s story arc seems pretty secondary. Not as secondary as Jennifer Hudson’s mind you, who, although she does a terrific job with what little she has, still feels like an almost “equal opportunity” inclusion. And we thought we’d come a long way, baby.
Especially at such a lengthy running time, I was disappointed by the tantalizing but barely touched subjects of maternal terror, subjugating one’s self for one’s man, and how did Mr. Big create that amazing closet where there once was none? (ok, maybe I’m stretching a bit on that one; obviously, he took square footage from that back bedroom that didn’t share the Central Park view, tapped into some old plumbing lines and cracked the ceiling for the skylight. Ah, but do I digress?)
What works undeniably here is the wistful depiction of the indestructible bond between the four leading female characters, getting on with their lives, but still there, martinis in hand, with open hearts and ears for one another. In our real lives, we may not all pine for Manolos, cosmos and weddings covered by Vogue, but, I can’t think of one woman I know who doesn’t wish she had more time to be with her friends. So, it’s nice to catch up with the girls again; even if they aren’t real, they’re still a hoot.