Who is Ann Althouse? So if I have nothing to say then I wasted minutes. To try to salvage my lost time, I'll go with a numbered list: Why is a comedy minutes long?
Especially a comedy based on a half-hour sitcom. It was like 5 TV episodes stuck together. Except 5 TV episodes would have been more fun because there would have been a lot more random, go-nowhere plots and not a true-romance story arc for each of 4 characters.
They'd have thrown in some extra bad boyfriends. Instead, each aging diva has the love of her life to come to terms with. Hollywood is back to casting black women in the role of the maid: Why did Carrie Bradshaw even need a personal assistant? She's been using that damned Apple laptop for over a decade. Doesn't she know how to click the "junk" icon in Mail? Also, if she's such a big Apple user, why did she shun the iPhone?
Well, the answer is, of course, these were all plot devices. How can you generate enough miscommunication to make a modern love story when everyone has instant communication? You have to have kids hiding cell phones, cell phones thrown into the ocean in anger, unusual cell phones that a person who isn't supposed to be an idiot can't operate, and personal assistants to set up password-protected email boxes. I thought the extreme, grotesque materialism was extreme, grotesque and pretty amusing: Nor has the show explained how a freelance writer could afford all those clothes.
It simply accepts that fashion is good and assumes the audience, just like Carrie, so badly wants to be a part of Vogue.
It's a little game we play. Does it hurt anyone? We all like a walk-in closet, so why not show us the ultimate dream closet I say "our Carrie," because it seems we're supposed to identify with her, but why on earth do we? Is she our fantasy? We might like to maintain our skinniness as we age, but we don't visualize it turning out that stringy. How many tendons are there in the human body anyway?
I tried counting that one time when we got a horrific closeup of the axilla: Meanwhile, Samantha is supposed to get shockingly fat from living in Los Angeles and having to consume food instead of the usual smorgasbord of men that she got in New York. But the actress, Kim Cattrall , declined to put this kind of dedication into acting: But credit where credit is due: Cattrall puts in the effort where the result is to make her look pretty. I'm thinking about that sushi scene.
Which was another place where they figured out how to make the telephone unanswerable. And let's be fair. Cattrall has a beautiful body at age 51, and stretching it out at this point could be catastrophic. Couldn't they have made some sort of fat prosthesis to make the fat scenes big and believable? What percent of the women in the theater were slimmer than the supposedly fat Samantha?
And if Carrie is so horrified by fat, why is she so hung up on Mr. Big, who is fat? But still, the man is substantially overweight, and in profile, at least once, it was very obvious that he was wearing a powerful girdle.
Noth had to act like a pussy about going to his giant wedding, and it was completely unbelievable. I can't believe the whole audience didn't audibly scoff. Because the audience was breathing and sighing along with ever emotional moment in that damned movie.
Women go to that movie to have their emotions played. Suspend your critical mind and flow with it. If you don't want to do that The most pornographic part of it all is the fashion and the interior decoration. You'll never be bored if you can pay attention to the details of costume and set decoration. For me, the most astounding thing in the movie was the chest of drawers in the Vogue office.
I have this old chest of drawers — my parents bought it in the s — that earlier in the day I decided I had to get rid of. I was thinking about rearranging the furniture in my living room and I realized that the awful thing had to go.
It's black with three wavy gold squares on each drawer and a big gold door-knocker pulls. My parents had that exact same chest at least as described: I didn't see the movie. It's by Dorothy Draper. You can google her. My sister saw one in the window of an antiques store in Greenwich so it's worth something, although she didn't stop to check the price.
Althouse, can I have the Dorthy Draper piece? Posted by Ann Althouse at 8: