It was inevitable. The first Sex and the City movie made over $400 million, so there had to be a sequel, and auteur Michael Patrick King has confirmed it. Filming starts this summer, with release expected in summer 2010. That means a year of splashy features, and another summer of young women from Fair Lawn getting their new high heels stuck between the cobblestones in the Meatpacking District.
Or does it? E! Online says the script isn’t written yet. “So what should happen next?” they ask. “Let the suggestions begin!” Gladly.
Big’s salary is capped at $500,000, and Carrie is replaced at the paper by a 19-year-old anal sex enthusiast with the nom de plume BrownEye, in honor of the Ivy League school she dropped out of. Money becomes tight, and Big finds that after a lifetime of Cohibas he cannot adjust to El Productos. After a series of comic moonlighting misadventures as a cab driver and new media consultant, he works contacts from his secret past as an NYPD detective and gets some shifts as a bouncer with his old pal Jesse L. Martin. Carrie starts a blog, which she makes racier to draw traffic (“How can I say I love you,” her words scrolls across the MacBook screen, “when your balls are in my mouth?”) but it still doesn’t pay much, and they are forced to move to Greenpoint. There is a poignant, slow-motion moment when Carrie realizes Vera Wang isn’t suitable for Studio B.
When Carrie moves to Brooklyn, Miranda is conflicted by her feelings of superiority, provoking a crisis that convinces her she is a lesbian. “I sort of knew this was coming,” says Steve. She quits her job, takes their kid and moves to a separatist community in Staten Island, where she runs a legal clinic at the co-op and writes a novel about a bisexual policewoman that is optioned for Jennifer Lopez. Rich and triumphant, she returns to her old home, where she retains Steve as a sort of nanny.
Samantha resumes her PR business and becomes anorexic. She acquires a reputation for fainting at openings. She takes up with Brit bad boy Drake Fenton-Lewis (clearly modeled on Blake Fielder-Civil), with whom she shares unpleasant drug-fueled adventures and loses many clients, her apartment, and her drivers license. In desperation she takes a column with the Huffington Post, which is successful enough that she and Drake can afford a studio in Bushwick. Classic line: “I love you… but I love meth more.”
Her bout of fertility seemingly at an end, Charlotte obsessively adopts children from various countries until she has one from each continent, including Antarctica, and Harry leaves her. She becomes despondent and, when she is picked up wandering the Upper East Side barefoot, dressed in a jumper and crying for “Mommy,” she is briefly institutionalized and given shock treatments. She emerges from the sanatorium a virtual zombie, and is taken in by Miranda, who has renovated her apartment into a duplex to house Charlotte’s children and now treats her old, addled friend as a ward and servant, sending her out to pick up cigarettes and sports drinks. When Miranda goes on a book tour, Charlotte limply submits to Steve’s advances.
The wrap-up: Big and Jessie pull some drug deals and take over one of the many clubs that have closed in the new depression, turning it into seamy but profitable enterprise. The girls, having learned valuable life lessons, decide to renovate and live in an abandoned Victorian home in Asbury Park. Confused moviegoers spend weekends in summer 2010 drunkenly wandering the Jersey beach in Manolo Blahnik flip-flops developed as an affordable promotional tie-in to the film. Sex and the Sequel makes a fortune, and the cast signs up for a third movie set in the dystopian future, Sex and the City: Extinction.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on February 6, 2009