People can change.
To wit: I’ve hated peach for years. The colour, the fruit, the taste, the very idea of anything peach. Yet in Superdrug on Monday I willingly bought a conditioner with peach in it because I thought it smelled lovely. I loathe Mamma Mia with a fierce and deadly passion, believing as I do that it’s a threat to new musicals and total gems written by Sondheim and his ilk. Not to mention, pulling a shit musical out of a tribute act is just lazy. But damn those fuckers at whatever-studio-it-is, put Meryl Streep, Julie Walters and Pierce Brosnan in a film and you know I need to see it. From the trailer, it seems the campy/pantomimey bits might be less bland and annoying in the close-ups of cinema than they were in the hallowed space of the Prince of Wales.
Last night I ate a hotdog, and I never, ever eat hotdogs. Mostly because they give you yucky burps (well they do!) and probably because I’m conscious that 90% of them has never even been introduced to a piece of meat.
Speaking of pieces of meat, the hotdog eating occasion was going to see the Sex and the City film. I wouldn’t say I was a huge fan, though I did buy the ‘shoebox’ boxset when I saw it on sale. I’ve been angered by the nasty press about Sarah Jessica Parker, there’s no need to get stuck in about her looks. Ok, she may not be conventionally attractive, but just don’t look at her if she offends your retinas so much. I love Cynthia Nixon, not just because of her new ‘out and proud’ status, and agree that it would have been a disaster if they hadn’t sorted things out to include Kim Cattrall.
Only two jarring bits: poo jokes? Really? And everything Harry said came out as if he was on a particularly high dose of lithium. I wasn’t expecting Shakespearean levels of craft, but anvillicious moments like “doesn’t she look like a princess?” made me gag a little.
If I have a particular brand of feminism, this is probably closest to it. I could give a crap about shoes, but substitute Manolos for Nikes and we could probably get along. I’m not one for ‘forgive and forget’ either, but if Joanna Gleason (she’s Canadian?!) shows up as a marriage counsellor it glosses over everything. Most of all I like that Samantha’s lifestyle can still be celebrated in amongst all the wedding and baby blah blah. As Kaite said on leaving the cinema last night, how many films celebrate the 50th birthday of a female lead?
The script won’t be winning any Oscars, and the ninety bajillion product placements were a little irritating, but if we can sit through 4-5 ‘Knocked Up’ boycoms every summer, I’m just glad that someone is standing up for the tastes of a large percentage of women.
Speaking of which, oh my dear God when is The Women being released? I need to see this film so much I could squeal. The women who brought us Murphy Brown (Diane English, writing and directing, plus CANDY B!) are making a whole film.