Every couple of months, one of the Sex and the City foursome breathes new life into speculation about a third film like one might stir up sediment fallen to the bottom of a filthy fish tank. Most recently, Sarah Jessica Parker told Marie Claire in February of this year that Sex and the City 3 might *actually* happen. “It’s in a warming drawer. It’s never been a ‘no’… it’s always been an ‘if’ and ‘when,'” she said. To which this longtime SATC fan thought, Please, for the love of all that’s sacred, remove this idea from the warming drawer and throw it directly into the garbage disposal!!! The possibility that SATC 3 could come to fruition was terrible news and I say this as a certified SATC superfan—someone whose secret shame is re-watching vintage SATC eps that I’ve seen approximately 2.3 billion times already—but I, for one, would not have been able to survive another SATC movie trainwreck.
Well, by the grace of the movie gods, SJP just confirmed that my darkest fear will officially not become a reality, telling Extra on September 28 when they interviewed her at the New York City Ballet Gala: “It’s over. We’re not doing it.”
“I’m disappointed,” SJP continued. “We had this beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, joyful, very relatable script and story.” Um, love you and your enthusiasm, SJP, but doubt that very much after the shit show that was SATC 2.
In case the idea ever gets exhumed again, here’s why I really, truly, sincerely hope Sex and the City 3 never happens (and it has zero to do with the ladies’ ages):
Because Sex and the City 2 was an unforgivable monstrosity we’ve only just started to forget
Chances are you’ve seen SATC 2 and if you were an OG fan like me, you were probably pretty stoked for it. It’s also pretty likely that you walked out of the theatre (because you know you paid good $$$ to see it) feeling like you’d been robbed of both your thirteen bucks and your pride. It was atrociously obvious in the TWO HOURS AND 27 MINUTES most of us suffered through that the only thing they put less thought into than the plot were the dust-crusted stereotype-promoting movie tropes they just can’t seem to abandon. From Stanford and Anthony’s horrendous “couldn’t get any gayer” wedding—their words, not mine—to their full-of-cultural-insensitivity trip to Abu Dhabi, the storyline was a hot, meandering, offensive mess.
Because the world cannot handle one. more. tragic. musical. number.
If you’ve managed to wipe the painful, painful scenes from your memory, I’m referring to the not one, but two, terrible musical renditions in the second movie that irreversibly categorized the SATC brand as Extremely Irrelevant. The first was Liza Minnelli’s disrespectful ditty where they basically trotted the legend out from the crypt to sing a truly sad version of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” at Stanford and Anthony’s wedding. The second was when our fearless foursome sang 1970s female empowerment anthem “I Am Woman” at a karaoke club in Abu Dhabi. The world collectively cringed for more than two minutes (honestly, did not one editor think to trim these scenes down?) until the big finish: Samantha grabbing the mic and singing “I am a woman, I’m at that table” a capella as she motions to her crush. Because even when it’s about female empowerment, it still relates back to a man! Ugh. What do you call the opposite of a mic drop? In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, I will continued to be horrified by this
all day for the rest of my life.
Because, let’s be honest, it won’t be possible to make the fashion look authentic
You cannot argue this. With each sequel and half-baked attempt to replicate the special brand of fashion magic the show always managed to achieve—no matter how ridiculous (see: Carrie’s horse purse, cropped top with floating tummy-belt, and bunny tail on a miniskirt NOT as a Halloween costume, among other utter headscratchers)—with costume designer Pat Fields, they failed increasingly more miserably until they had the ladies looking like woman dressed up as the Sex and the City characters for Halloween. For a show that broke down so many barriers about age, it sure has proven itself to be wholly incapable of dressing a woman over 50 in a way that doesn’t look remotely cartoonish.
Because another sequel will dilute the show’s original message even more
By tempting Carrie with an Aidan affair in the second movie, they committed two unforgivable crimes. Firstly, they forever sullied the fans’ pristine memories of Aidan—the one that got away, to some, the guy Carrie never deserved to others—by passing the now-married with children furniture designer off as all too willing to jump into bed with his ex. The Aidan I know would never have approached an affair with Carrie, surely who he regards as “the one that got away,” so casually and if they were trying to make it seem like he got swept up in a romantic moment, they failed catastrophically at that, too. There was no romance, no magic, just a painful few minutes of Carrie batting her black-rimmed eyelashes, desperate for some male approval. Secondly, they cast so much doubt on her relationship with Big, the series finale decision fans were supposed to get behind, that I had to Google whether or not they were still together at the end of the movie.
And yet again, the movies have proven to be mostly about the ladies’ relationships with men and not about the ladies themselves as fully-formed, happy, independent women. Even perpetual single gal Samantha gets pretty much thrown out of Abu Dhabi for getting busy with some guy, not for her own pleasure, but to prove to herself that she’s not getting old. And what of their strong female friendships? All I can really remember is Miranda being there for Charlotte (see, we told you she was the best) after Carrie lashed out at her obviously-fragile friend when she dared question why she was rushing off to dinner with Aidan. I guess the one thing the movies do very effectively is prove that Carrie was, and is, the worst.
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