Sex And The City: The Finale

[Impressions during and after the overly lone, overly sentimental tributary assemblage preceding the last episode...]

Doctor: Do you swallow?
Samantha: Only when surprised.

[Honey, the only elements that should cause surprise are force, volume, and occasionally vector.]

[More in a WaPo review, if you've a mind. Warning: spoilers ahead...]

[Violet has always despised Sex And The City, and she'd hate that I just wrote that bit about the happy gullet too occupied to speak its name. Unreconstructed Dworkinian that she is, she thinks SATC represents (represented) everything she hates about the way she thinks people cheapen sex, and especially what that process does to women. The only word I've heard her use to describe Sarah Jessica Parker is "whore," in the most condemnatory cry a (jealous?) white girl from Marin can summon up, and that's some cry.]

[Me, I've always enjoyed the show. Like Buffy, it began around the time that John and I did, so there will always be that sentimental attachment. Once, John dismissed a criticism of the show for being unrealistic with a characteristic "Who cares? I get together with my gay male and women friends, we have a bottle of wine or two, and we laugh out loud." Yes, it's always been an escape.]

[Feminist-humanist-utopian Violet hates that many have held it up as a frank example of How We Live Now. I don't think it really was that. It showed glimpses of how many of us live now, sometimes, but what it really did was create a slick collage of some of the many absurd things we do, put a glossy, Choo-Blahnik'd sheen on them, and slapped the package on HBO. Real? What is real?]

****************

[OK, last ep. just ended. It was of a higher quality than the series; they did the whole "filmic" thing. Lots of good stuff...Charlotte's BabyQuest never really excited me (and neither did that queeny friend of hers; hey, no Stanford for the finale?), but whatever. (A certain visitor this weekend expressed paternal urges I never, ever expected to hear. I'll believe anything now, Max.) Samantha...sentimental slob, of course, but on top 'til the end. Miranda...Love, Lawyer Style: "Let's not make a big deal of this." (Since it seems necessary to identify with a character, she was closest to me.) And Carrie and Mr. Big, whose name the gods and Executive Producer SJP in their wisdom decided to reveal as (oh, great) John. (On caller ID, no less; hooker dispatch reference, or is that just me channeling V.?) While Big's back, the very last shot shows Carrie alone, which is the way it should be]

[Another defining something-or-other endeth. Not that I've watched either in quite a while, but once Six Feet Under and The Sopranos bite the dust, all the shows that were wallpaper for the beginning and peak of John and me will be gone. Everything I know I learned from HBO...]

Previously Next

[Later: In keeping with tonight's Unbearable Fluffiness of Being theme, here's this (via John H.):]

Which incarnation of Kylie are you?