Since The Fonz first did it in Happy Days somewhere back in the seventies, many shows that I have loved have hit that pivotal moment when they turn from good into disappointing, absurd or even embarrassing. And like the Happy Days shark-jumping moment, the change usually happens when the budget goes up and the writers send the cast off on holiday.
Sex in the city was one of those that almost made the jump – many times in fact – but somehow always managed to claw itself back from the brink.
When the series ended, I was sad but at the same time glad that it had made it to a proper end without the shark jump. Its often absurd storylines somehow fit the show. It got away with the ridiculous clothes and exaggerated behaviours because New York is big enough to absorb that sort of thing and the women were still just about young enough to get away with it all.
But time moves on and you know where I’m going with this – Sex and the city 2: the movie.
It opens with Carrie wearing crimped hair. The woman is 45. Those two sentences should never be combined.
The usual SATC TV show formula is still lurking and it starts well enough with Stanford getting married but at about the time the end credits would be rolling if it were a TV show, the laydees take their neuroses off to Abu Dhabi for a week, dragging with them more clothes than you and I combined wear in a year.
So here’s the spoiler in alphabetical order: Carrie snogs Aidan; Charlotte confesses she’s glad to be away from her kids; Miranda admits she likes working; Samantha behaves like an amorous old granny escaped from a nursing home. Yes, the story really is that dull.
The colour comes from the location, their vast wardrobe of hideously ugly clothes, way too much make-up and earrings borrowed from Pat Butcher.
That’s about it really. Oh, apart from Carrie and Big’s flat – apparently she chose the decor. He really shouldn’t have let her.
The shark has been well and truly jumped.