Florence of Arabia
I was one of the few who mostly liked the first Sex and the City movie. I was perplexed why it was so thoroughly panned by critics (even making some year's-worst lists)—it was a faithful extension of the show, albeit one with a couple of confounding plot points. I felt the parts that bugged me bugged me in a good way, a provocative way. Like sex, even the lamest orgasm is right on the money, right?
Challenging that notion, Sex and the City 2 is definitely a bit of a boner-killer.
A woman who doesn't know her place...until she does
I knew I was in trouble when director and writer Michael Patrick King stated he'd made this film in response to seeing the series' fans dressing up and partying in the aisles when seeing the first flick. He wanted to extend the party. A film made for that purpose was only ever going to be shallow; and a Sex and the City created strictly for the fun of it, all party instead of part party, part museum, part high-end store, part shrink session, was bound to wind up a caricature of itself.