Do you hear that? That’s the sound of film critics everywhere shutting down mean-spirited-destructive nit-picking. It’s over. Film criticism has reached its apex with this devastating review of Sex and the City 2 in The Stranger.
Sticks and stones blah blah blah, CUT ‘EM, Lindy West!:
SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled cunt like it’s my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car.
At sexism’s funeral (which takes place in a mysterious, incense-shrouded chamber of international sisterhood), the women of Abu Dhabi remove their black robes and veils to reveal—this is not a joke—the same hideous, disposable, criminally expensive shreds of cloth and feathers that hang from Carrie et al.’s emaciated goblin shoulders. Muslim women: Under those craaaaaaay-zy robes, they’re just as vapid and obsessed with physical beauty and meaningless material concerns as us! Feminism! Fuck yeah!
If this is what modern womanhood means, then just fucking veil me and sew up all my holes. Good night.
Sorry about all the swears, Mom.
I was wishing cancer on everyone associated with this movie, and then I realized I’ve gone through life thinking it was Sex IN the City. I feel like I was in some weird, parallel universe where everything is slightly different. And I saw some Sex in the City episodes. Yup. Totally different universe.