Sex and the City 2: A DEFENCE

Writhing with anticipation after the two-year wait, we skipped eagerly into the cinema, so desperately early that we were the first four girls in the auditorium. We selected seats and wiggled into comfy positions, ready for several hours of what can only be described as cinematic glitter. More women trickled (or rather, leapt) into the room, gaggles of girlfriends squealing together, others dragging reluctant boyfriends in their wake. An assault of perfume ads and make-up commercials, then the lights faded and the trailers began – upcoming chick flicks, naturally – until, finally, the big, spangly titles flashed up, accompanied by the iconic theme music (brought bang up to date for 2010 by Ms Alicia Keyes). And lo, what didn’t Michael Patrick King bring us? He forgot nothing, neglected nil. Fashion, sex, scandal, laughter, enormous bouncing bosoms and a whole male rugby team clad only in Speedos. A gay wedding complete with swans, an array of candy-pink cupcakes, Liza Minnelli and Miley Cyrus, lavish apartments and hotel suites, and the most adorable child you’ve ever seen (although, granted, also one of the most annoying ones). And Aidan. Oh Aidan.

There’s no need to mourn for SATC past. The film is steeped in nostalgia; flashbacks and reminiscences abound. A glorious 80s sequence reveals our heroines in garish neon get-ups – a little predictable, yes, but satisfying nonetheless. And, of course, that infamous pink tutu gets another fleeting but obligatory appearance.

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