Shh … The Sex and the City Review!

Um, so I’m not entirely sure what the rules are on this. I think this article is supposed to run on Film.com before it runs anywhere else, and, uh, I’m not even sure if it’s allowed to run today. But I love you guys and I have to tell you all about my experience at the sneak preview. And, um, if they were going to fire me over at Film.com, it would have happened when I ran the Dita Von Teese sex tape. (They did not think that qualified as “gossip.” Their term for it was “pornography.”) So I think I’m in the clear.

After the jump, my Sex and the City EXPERIENCE!!!

8 am: Wake up. Remember that today is Sex and the City day. Remind my puppy of this fact. He is unimpressed. Decide to get work out of the way so that I can enjoy tonight.

1 pm: Go to gym. Must have hot body for Sex and the City premier. Tell trainer where I am going tonight. She says we can no longer be friends; she is jealous, and I think she makes me do extra crunches just to punish me.

2:30 pm: Go to beauty supply store. Hate my current ($20) straightening iron and cannot go to Sex and the City premier hating my hair. Tell the girls at the store where I am going tonight. They help me select a pink TIGI straightening iron ($110). Much better.

3 pm: Get a bagel for lunch. Bagel feels like New York.

5 pm: Begin preparations. Shower, blow dry, straighten. Love my hair. It looks amazing. Expensive straightener totally worth it. Have momentary freak-out because I wanted to wear a particular black vest and the black vest is nowhere to be found. Eventually discover it near the kitchen. Inexplicable, but a relief nonetheless. Try on eight different combinations of pants and shirts with the vest. Settle on dark denim True Religions and a tight-fitted vintage logo tee, with the vest over it, of course. And the coup de grace: a pair of gorgeous vintage Italian black heels that a friend gave me last week. They belonged to his 86-year-old mother, and she could no longer wear them. They still have the Nordstrom logo on the inside, all worn out. These shoes have a fabulous history, I’m certain of it, and I feel amazing wearing them. Finish up makeup and head out the door.

6:30 pm: My friend Tom is my date tonight. I told him to meet me at the theater at 6:30 sharp, and, of course, at 6:30 sharp, I am still in my car, driving to the theater. He texts me, panicked. “There is a HUGE line!!!” I’m not worried.

6:45 pm: Arrive at theater. There IS a huge line. It wraps around the concourse. The people at the front look like they’ve been camped out here all day. They have blankets and pillows and water and food. I will find out later than anyone who got here after 4:30 — which is most of this line — won’t get in. I walk straight to the front of the line and give the lady with the clipboard my name. “Oh, fabulous!” she says. “I’m so glad you made it! Go on in and find a seat.” Now, I’ve used my job to cut to the front of lines before. I’ve done it at Les Deux and Hyde and Area in Los Angeles, at Tao and PURE in Las Vegas, and at Butter in New York, to name a few, but somehow, here, at a relatively small movie theater in downtown Seattle, I feel cooler than ever before. The girls in line hate me. And my hair looks great. And my heels are gorgeous. I’m in heaven.

7:00 pm: The movie doesn’t start until 7:30, so Tom and I take our seats and watch the other people file in. We decide to play a game: which girl has the most fabulous outfit, and which guy is least pleased to have been dragged here. For the latter, we have a ton of options. For the former, not so many. Girls aren’t nearly as decked out as I thought they’d be. That’s what I get for going to a premier in Seattle, I guess. I turn to Tom: “I’m the best-dressed girl here.” He laughs. But I’m right. It’s a title I never could have claimed in Los Angeles.

7:30 pm: The movie starts. But it’s not the movie. It’s footage from the red carpet at the NYC premier, and it’s terribly boring. Stephen Cojocaru hosts. A few bright spots: Sarah Jessica Parker exits her limousine, looking gorgeous and glamorous. Matthew Broderick peeks out sheepishly behind her. The theater erupts with laughter; the juxtaposition of the two is so jarring. Then, Cojocaru’s interviewing Jennifer Hudson, who’s wearing a ton of gold glitter. “Did you bathe yourself in gold?” asks Cojo. Jennifer smiles. “I just rubbed my Oscar all over me.” Ha! Oh, and Pat Field? The designer extraordinaire behind the girls’ ensembles? Is completely, totally wasted. She can’t put together a single coherent thought in her interview. The red carpet footage continues forever, and the audience gets squirmy.

8:00 pm: FINALLY! THE MOVIE!!!! Okay, okay, I guess this is where my review goes. But, come on, does this thing really need a review? If you’re an SatC fan, you’re going to see this movie. You have to. But I guess I need to do my job here, so I will.

As pretty much every critic has mentioned before, the movie is way too long. No one’s winning any Oscars for editing here. There are countless superfluous scenes, lines and conversations. Jennifer Hudson’s role, as Carrie’s personal assistant, didn’t need to exist at all, although her performance is endearing. But the heart of the problem is that they’re trying to give all four women full-fledged story lines, with beginnings, middles and ends, and, while commendable, it’s just too much for a single movie. It’s hard to do a much more thorough review without giving away any spoilers, but I’ll tell you this: the clothes are fabulous. Sarah Jessica Parker just looks stunning in anything you put on her — at one point, she crawls into bed wearing gray cotton panties, a silk cami, and a long string of pearls. I want that life. I want to be a woman who looks amazing and doesn’t feel ridiculous crawling into bed, totally sober, still wearing her pearls.

The dialogue is quippy, the love among the women remains strong, and there are a lot of laughs (and quite a few happy endings, although I’ll keep mum on those). I even heard a few genuine chuckles out of the very heterosexual Tom, so it appears the movie is boy-friendly as well. Oh, and you guys? No one dies.

One last thing: although all four women still carry themselves with grace and style, they certainly show the ten years that have passed since the television show premiered in 1998. These are no longer women exploring their early thirties with the youthful glow of their twenties lingering on their faces. With the possible exception of Kristen Davis, who doesn’t seem to have aged a day in the past twenty years, these women are forty, and they look it now. But their story lines do that justice: they are living more mature lives and making more mature decisions than they did ten years ago, and, as a woman, I appreciated that. They’ve grown up in so many ways, although they still get excited over a new pair of Manolos, and they’re as committed to their friendships as they were ten years ago.

10:30 pm: The movie ends. Seriously, it’s nearly three hours long. Tom and I were going to grab a bite to eat afterwards, but nothing’s open. I’m starving. I drive home, and I briefly consider the idea of stopping by the 24-hour McDonalds to get a Big Mac and a large fries. But then I think of Carrie Bradshaw, crawling into bed in her panties and a string of pearls, with her amazing legs and amazing arms and amazing stomach, and I decide that if I want that life, I need to skip the McDonalds. I go home and eat a bowl of cereal and a piece of toast instead.

So thank you, Carrie Bradshaw, for inspiring a generation of young women never to settle. Thank you for teaching us to embrace our girlfriends and our careers and our closets when men don’t come through. Thank you for showing us that the best lessons are the hardest learned, and that the happiest endings are worth waiting for. And thank you, Carrie Bradshaw, for saving me 1000 calories tonight.