Review: Sex and the City


When a large box with a handwritten note from Vivienne Westwood arrives on Carrie Bradshaw’s doorstep and prompts a collective swoon from a packed house, then you know the film’s hit its target audience.

If you were a fan of the HBO series – which defined the naughties for some, and solidified the marketing bracket of the thirty-something single-woman – this won’t disappoint. It’s pitch-perfect entertainment for a girls’ night out.

Essentially it’s the same deal: Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda are all lost in love in its many forms. And throughout all the dramas – the make ups, the breakups, the lunches and cocktails – are a stunning array of over three hundred costume changes (one could almost see this film for the fashion alone). For those who missed the show, the opening credits allow a quick recap of the series’ defining moments. But an avid watcher will find more to appreciate. Plot wise, the story picks up in real time from where the show left off; four years later and each woman is in a steady(ish) relationship and career.

The transition from television to cinema screen can often be a sore point. Here it’s smooth – the film version carries all the quirks of the show and makes no attempt to elevate the plot to epic proportions (and nor should it). Though I couldn’t escape the feeling that we have neither quite a film nor a TV episode – it’s something held in a limbo.

You’ll know if Sex and the City is for you. In adhering to an episodic formula, this is familiar and as successfully entertaining and engaging as the show: a top shelf chick flick if ever there was one.