Sex And The City

I’ve spent the past two days watching eight episodes from the first season of Sex and the City. I’d never watched it and was slightly curious, so I rented the set on DVD. Although I giggled a few times, I wasn’t really impressed. These women have conversations that are just as shocking and insightful as any of us have (which is to say, “not very”.) Just because they’re having them on television is no reason to get excited. I find each episode’s topicality annoying. The conceit is that Sarah Jessica Parker’s character writes a weekly column, and just happens to find material in her friends’ lives. Conveniently, they all seem to wrestle with the week’s chosen “issue” at the same time. Sure, it’s a TV show, but something this contrived just fails to resonate with me. It’s the television equivalent of junk food.

Worse, Sarah Jessica Parker’s habit of stopping mid-scene and addressing the camera drives me crazy. Funny thing is, the same thing used to drive me crazy about her husband (Matthew Broderick) in his work. One hopes their real lives aren’t filled with these dramatic parentheses.

Another weakness is the way every character is so easily assigned a “type.” There’s the good girl, the slut, the gay friend, the geeky straight guy, and then whole legions of rich “toxic bachelors.” The funniest is the character of “Skipper” (I kid you not), a late 20s “website designer” who has the demeanor and brains of a lost puppy.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s a girl thing…