By Jason Lynch Kristen Mascia Lisa Ingrassia
June 09, 2008 12:00 PM

Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis, Cynthia Nixon, Chris Noth, Jennifer Hudson | R |


If New York City sex columnist turned author Carrie Bradshaw (Parker), who spent six stylish seasons looking for love on HBO’s Sex and the City, could somehow review her own movie, it would go like this: They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and four years after my series finale, I would have run a marathon in my Manolos to watch myself and my three best friends again catch up on gossip, drool over couture and sip cosmos. But our frothy fun, always at the heart of the series, soon vanished from the film like last year’s bubble dress. As I left the theater, I couldn’t help but wonder: Where is the joy of Sex? How could this 142-minute movie come up short? And why do I waste so much screen time bonding with my dull new assistant (Hudson) instead of my closest pals?

For its trip to the big screen, Sex has packed emotional baggage by the truckload: Carrie, Miranda (Nixon) and Samantha (Cattrall) all hit monumental relationship roadblocks. These darker journeys are stirring—Nixon’s and Parker’s anguish in particular is heartbreaking—but writer-director Michael Patrick King fails to nurture his most important love story: the Fab Four. It’s tempting to overlook Sex‘s flaws and simply revel in another chance to hang with Carrie and company. But they would never compromise—in labels or in love. Why should we?