Sex and the City

by Brian Steel

Vital information about the recent much-hyped film of a long-running defunct TV series is contained in a a subtle review by Deborah Ross, the pseudo ‘dumb blonde’ ex-food critic (also subtle, as she herself was wont to suggest in disarming Chinese water torture detail) of the best English-language magazine of the past two centuries, The Spectator. Her refreshingly original critical style is characterised in the following excerpts. (For the full version, see her review of Sex and the City at

“It’s just this marvellous package, one which is not just fun, but also sells its menfolk deliciously short [as Deborah herself was wont to do, with insincere relish, in her ‘Spectator’ restaurant critiques, about her long-suffering and conveniently mute partner], — it is such a hoot, seeing women objectifying men — embraces real drama along with all the fashion hoo-ha and has, at its heart, four women who are such busy professionals, they only have time to meet for breakfast, elevenses, lunch, six trips round Bloomingdales, tea, a detoxifying bodywrap, cocktails, Botox, four opening parties, dinner and a nightcap.”
“The premise is they’ve all found love, and are no longer searching, what happens next?”
“This is the other beauty of Sex and the City: just as you’re beginning to think ‘enough of this cliché-riddled rubbish already’, it’ll do something to grab you by the throat and thrash you about a bit. There is a reunion scene on Brooklyn Bridge that had me blubbing like the lachrymose old fool that I am.”
“No, it doesn’t break new ground, but it does know its own ground perfectly.”

Carrie and partners – R.I.P.

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