Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby…

In my last post,  I talked about how much I like titles.

And as I mentioned then, the post was actually supposed to be a quick review of Sex in the City (the movie, not the act) as it pertained to the title of this post (which in turn had absolutely nothing to do with anything). Unfortunately, I rambled. A lot.  Thus, my movie review has found itself with an entirely new post with an entirely new title that isn’t so very clever at all.

Confused?

Yeah, ummm, welcome to my rabbit-hole of a head. If you happen to come across a little bottle labeled "Drink Me"… Don’t.

You Put the Banana in the Dragon’s Mouth and It Turns Back into the Baby, Right?

That title is a reference to an episode of Roseanne where she and her sister are discussing pregnancy dreams (you know, the ones where you’re breastfeeding twelve purple monkeys and a red-headed  version of your husband all on one nipple?). 

It  really had no major significance at the time other than  the fact that the pseudo-Nyquil did nothing other than give me pseudo-pregnancy dreams. However, as I typed it out, I was reminded of something very very important:

I HATED THE LAST EPISODE OF ROSEANNE.

Like, with a passion, dude.

You see, in that fateful last episode, Roseanne shocked us all with the fact that everything- everything– had been made-up. Dan had died years before. Darlene was actually with Mark. Becky with David. Jackie was really a lesbian not her mother. No one ever won the lottery… Made-up.

All of it.

(Yes, yes, I know that there’s some irony there, but ignore it for a minute, okay? I can’t make a point if you keep interrupting.)

And while I get that surprise endings are all the rage,  it completely ruined one of my all-time favorite television series for me. I can’t watch an episode of the show (Dear Nick at Night Gods, I love you.) without remembering that travesty of a finale.

I guess it’s a lot like watching City of Angels for the second time (which I’ve never done, mind you)… The fact that, yes, indeed, a troubled human and struggling angel can– against all odds- meet, fall in love, and even do the nasty on the livingroom floor  is  somewhat RUINED by the knowledge that if the troubled human and struggling angel do meet, fall in love, and even do the nasty on the livingroom floor, the human will be promptly run over by a truck.

Which they will. And she does.

Yeah, I just can’t see how that’d be fun the second time around.

Which leads me to my point (you totally deserve a gold-star for getting this far):

I LOVED THE LAST EPISODE OF SEX IN THE CITY.

Okay, maybe love is a strong word. I loved the last episode of Six Feet Under. I  liked the last episode of Sex in the City. A lot.

The thing that I really loved was the fact that they wrapped everything up nicely… Like "stuck it in a Tiffany-bue box and tied it all together with a silk ribbon" nicely. We saw just enough of a happy ending for each of the characters (Carrie got Big, Charlotte got a baby, Miranda realizes that love will get you through anything? Samantha got that hot dude…)  to  be able to draw our own conclusions of their future and say that  that was , truly, a finale.

But then they went and ruined it.

When one unwraps a Tiffany-blue box tied all together with a silk ribbon, one expects to find… I don’t know… Tiffany? Perhaps not, but at least something better.  Definitely something new.   

And while the movie itself was not bad per se, it was put together very similarly to how they put together episodes in the past. It felt much like I was sitting down to one of the all-day marathons on TBS (except for the whole nudity thing).

Which in itself is great as I happen to enjoy the all-day marathons on TBS. (As do most Sex in the City fans with small children, I would assume.) What’s not great is that because the movie was put together as if they simply took out commercial breaks between each segment, it feels as if that perfectly ended finale never happened at all and they’ve simply come back to say,

"It was all made-up."

And this time, when they finally got around to ending it, they found themselves all out of Tiffany-blue boxes and silk ribbons and had to settle for that leftover Christmas gift bag that was crumpled up in the back of the closet.

And while the Charlotte in me can smile and say that it’s the thought behind the gift that counts, the Samantha in me says that one should never buy  jewelry  from K-Mart.

June 24, 2008
Categories: Prose/Bros


1.©2008 by Courtney Hebert as Judith Shakespeare.
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