afterlove

I am a full hour early, and the theater is already packed–with purses. Fabulous bags, from Gucci to Prada, are strewn all over, saving seats for women stranded in the long concession stand lines. Everyone has broken out their favorite totes for the occasion; even the fashion-unconscious work their Coach mini-hobos. And the earrings. Nothing shy or subtle about the oversized colorful hoops and ghetto gold glittering from tired lobes.

Our nosebleed seats are mediocre for the movie, but baller status for the people-watching. A girl three rows down flaunts a backless black gown, and the bitchy queens two rows back are hating on her with finger-pointing and limp wrists in full effect. The theater might be 90% female, but the remaining 10% are fierce. I spot the tall, skinny Z center trainer who I always thought was queer five rows in front–yup, that’s a firm check. The female solidarity is palpable, with girls giggling and chattering excitedly; a solidarity only outdone by the secret backstabbing and judgment of friends whispering about the equally outrageous outfits of other women.

This is Sex and the City culture, fan-dom.

When the Fergie-remixed version of the theme song comes on, the cheers are deafening, and I participate proudly. The opening credits recap the sixth season, walking the audience through a montage of the trials and tribulations of each character. We cheer for all of them. There are no favorites in SATC; Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte are each a part of us.

The following recounts and reviews what happens next; don’t worry though, no major spoilers:

The FASHION:
Costume designer Patricia Field has truly outdone herself once again. The fashion is straight-up out of control in this movie, and even the writers slip in a couple tongue-in-cheek scenes acknowledging the over-the-top styles. All four women are financially stable and successful in their 40s, which is really just a means to parade more couture labels in front of the camera. Carrie no longer bargain-shops for out-of-season Dolce kimonos; in this movie, she settles into the plush red velvet couches of Diane von Furstenberg. Trademark SATC brands still dominate; Louis Vuitton and Manolo Blahnik continue to draw ooohs and aaaahs from the audience. Some items are showcased for nostalgic effect: Carrie’s green mini-Hermes bag (throwback to the controversy of Samantha’s red Hermes tote in the Lucy Liu episode) and the close-up of Carrie’s black, strappy Christian Louboutins worn during Charlotte’s labor (reminiscent of the pink, tiered Louboutins that were ruined when Miranda’s water broke all over them). The writers finally take the ladies to Fashion Week at Bryant Park, but it’s unclear (at least to me) what runway show/designer they’ve chosen to admire (might be a mix of designers, I thought I caught both some Christian Audigier and Chloe).

Though Carrie’s bridal gowns take the cake for flashiest product placement (Vivienne Westwood, most notably), the biggest fashion coup is achieved by Apple and the iPhone–finally, electronics are “in”.

The SEX:
…is mostly seen with respect to Miranda, rather than Samantha. Carrie, as usual, remains the fully-covered “good girl” while Miranda takes on full frontal and a pubic hair close-up. Samantha’s love life takes a voyeuristic turn which results in watching a hot menage a trois between three strangers. Poor Charlotte gets the raw end of the deal, as moviegoers boo her sex scene thanks to her husband Harry’s unbecoming physique.

The humor and shameless honesty of the show are intact and on-point. Once again, SATC succeeds in sexually liberating women around the world. Some audience may cry, but all will laugh, and even the darkest-skinned will blush.

The CITY:
NYC attractions showcased in the movie are disappointing. They hit Chinatown, 5th Ave, and the NYC Public Library, but what viewers really want to see are the everyday, trendiest hotspots. Balthazar, Bungalow 8, and Bed are the episode landmarks we’re used to–we understand the SATC ladies are getting a bit old to hit the clubs, but it would’ve been nice to squeeze in a hip bar or sweet bakery (Magnolia, anyone?). Regrettably, the blatant product placement forces Carrie to spend time at Starbucks instead of hidden-treasure coffeehouses. However, props for the Christie’s auction locale; the urban vibe in that scene is both tangible and morbidly hilarious.

The STORIES:
To avoid spoilers, I won’t go into too much detail here. Miranda and Carrie rule the plotlines, though both are painfully predictable. Miranda wins as bitch of the year, which is both believable and saddening, as this may be the first time that I genuinely disliked one of the ladies. Charlotte is completely expendable with regards to plot; she only acts as a barometer for what a “happy” relationship should feel like. Samantha retires her crown as the fittest and most sexually-appealing character at the expense of a few laughs, but it’s worth it. A new character played by Jennifer Hudson is randomly introduced, and though she doesn’t literally upset the balance between the four ladies, she does. Presumably, she somewhat takes the place of Samantha who is absent in LA much of the time (and doubly adds diversity to the whitest white show ever behind Friends), but really…a fifth SATC lady? That is no bueno. Fortunately, Jennifer Hudson is adorable enough for the audience to accept her, and ultimately, her character kind of works. Plus, SOMEBODY had to introduce Carrie to rent-a-bag.

The overarching moral of the story is reiterated at the end of the movie: don’t label relationships. While I agree with this theme, I find the most refreshing lesson to be about forgiveness. “What happens after you find love?” Carrie queries. You realize love ain’t perfect; people aren’t perfect. More often than not, you will fuck up and hurt the one person in the world you shouldn’t hurt. But instead of being disheartened by the collapse of the flawless Cinderella fantasy, viewers are buoyed by the discovery that forgiveness is possible when love is still there–and that is the real happily-ever-after.

All in all, if you loved the show, you will at the very least like the movie. If you either haven’t seen the show and/or happen to be a heterosexual male, you won’t appreciate it, and it is more than likely that you’ll hate it. The plot isn’t original enough to keep you enraptured if you don’t already have vested emotions in each of the characters built up from six seasons of obsession. This movie is about true love after you find it. If you haven’t found SATC love yet, then this movie is pretty damn irrelevant.

dumbledore gets out-ed!

I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself. Most of you hardcore HP fans out there (as in, those of you who abbreviate it to HP) have probably already heard the news, but if you HAVE NOT, I would like you to whip out your digital Elphs and get ready to take a picture of yourself because I would kill to see your initial reaction to the following:

In the Scholastic Open Book Tour Sweepstakes in NYC, JK Rowling held a Q&A session where she dropped the G-bomb on fans: Albus Dumbledore, probably the second most loved character of the series after Harry himself…is gay. Yessirreeeeee, gay. Here is a transcript of the very enlightening question and answer:

Did Dumbledore, who believed in the prevailing power of love, ever fall in love himself?

JK Rowling: “My truthful answer to you … I always thought of Dumbledore as gay [ovation]. Dumbledore fell in love with Grindelwald and that added to his horror when Grindelwald showed himself to be what he was … Do we say it excused Dumbledore a little more because falling in love can blind us to an extent but he met someone as brilliant as he was and, rather like Bellatrix he was very drawn to this brilliant person, and horribly, terribly let down by him. Yeah, that’s how I always saw Dumbledore. In fact, recently I was in a script read through for the sixth film and they had Dumbledore saying a line to Harry early in the script saying I knew a girl once, whose hair … [laughter]. I had to write a little note in the margin and slide it along to the scriptwriter, ‘Dumbledore’s gay!’ [laughter]. If I’d known it would make you so happy, I would have announced it years ago!”

I love it. Dumbledore actually makes terrific sense as a gay character, and I give JKR mad props for announcing D’s sexual orientation to children ’round the world–in the middle of Carnegie Hall, no less. I have a sneaking suspicion that if JKR were an American writer, this whole gay business would have been kept under wraps for fear of offending the general prudishness of our country. Yay for Brits and their open sexuality!

gwyneth paltrow’s kids have it easy…well one of them does.

“Gwyneth Paltrow received a lot of criticism when she named her first-born daughter “Apple”, starting the trend of overly-distinct names for celebrity children. Believe me, I thought the name was as uncalled for as the next person. I mean, has our society really come to this? It’s not bad enough that celebrity children are forced into the limelight 24/7, but now even their ridiculous names need to draw attention?

I kinda rather like Gwyneth…she always seems to be on the brink of self-destruction, ready to explode from the anorexia and low self-esteem. I’m sure sleeping with Coldplay’s Chris Martin doesn’t help either; that whole household must be in a perpetually introspective and depressed state. I’m just waiting for the day when Gwynnie snaps, goes out to buy some big silicone titties, and turns Pam Anderson on us. I don’t know why all this makes me like her–maybe it makes her seem like a real person, not so airbrushed like the rest of Hollywood. I was beginning to think even more highly of her as I was running on my treadmill the other day.”

That was written back in February. I had a whole cutesy embarrassing story about how someone screamed “John!” and I misheard, and thought they screamed “Joan!” and how I ended up looking like a dumbass, and how Gwyneth’s child is never going to have that problem because she’s named after a freaking fruit. Actually, come to think of it, that story was pretty lame, and that’s why this draft has been sitting around for ages.

Anyway, to top it off, Gwyneth had to ruin this premise by popping out another monster and naming it…wait for iiiiiiit……..MOSES. (Ok, those of you who keep up to date on celeb goss are going to smirk about how this happened like two months ago, but LOOK I’ve been bizzy.) So now I’ve lost all respect for her, and can’t believe I’ve wasted an entire blog post on this shit. GOSH.

give me jack driscoll’s phone number

As I watched Peter Jackson’s new epic film, King Kong, I discovered that the most unrealistic part of the movie was not the zillion-foot ape that loves sunsets, or the raptors that somehow coexist on the same island, or the impossibility of lugging Kong in a damaged ship back to New York, or indeed, even getting him ONTO the ship in the first place. The most unbelievable nugget of the adventure is the character of Jack Driscoll, playwright and unlikely hero of the story, as well as Ann Darrow’s romantic interest. Driscoll, played by Adrien Brody (the only man I know who can pull of a nose THAT big and still be h-o-double-t), is a sensitive, artsy type, a brilliant and successful playwright who wins Ann’s heart with the written word before they even meet. He also, apparently, has rippling muscles and can drive a car in reverse for like a quarter mile, avoiding obstacles along the way. A complete paradox. I mean, surely, Driscoll would be bright enough to deduce the probability of Ann being dead before he could reach her on the island. Still, he’s imprudent enough to risk his life and go after her? A bit fishy. (But not fishing buddies fishy, I’m sure he’s heterosexual…and so the referencing begins.)

But he is, after all, in love. Where are these men? Where are these Jack Driscolls who can create art while pumping iron and overdosing on whey protein? Emo males are intellectual and sensitive, but ultimately too fixated on their own “angst” and self-induced depression to think of anyone but themselves. Oh they’ll love a girl for sure, write her heart-wrenching songs on a Fender even, but only so they can write even more heart-wrenching songs when she dumps them. Emo boys love to be unloved, and they’ve developed an entire genre of art based on this concept. The typical male jock has the washboard stomach criterion covered, but he lacks the pain and experience of rejection that the rest of us have been forced to endure…and as we all learned from van Gogh, pain does wonders for the artistic mind. Same reason why female comedians are never pretty. Pretty girls never develop that scrappiness that unattractive girls need to climb the social ladder and get noticed. They don’t have to be solely reliant on personality. I once heard somewhere, I forget where, that beautiful women can be charming, but never funny.

Are strong and emo mutually exclusive? Jack Driscoll says no, but when you meet a Jack Driscoll in real life, let me know. And give me his phone number. (Adrien Brody’s home phone number also acceptable.)

P.S. There is of course, the exception of the gay man to this post. But alas, he has gone fishing.
P.P.S. On a more humorous note, get psyched for the double Oscar, specially made for Brokeback Mountain. It’s being sold on eBay, bidding is at $182.50 at present.

i heart brokeback mountain

Yes, it is a movie about gay cowboys. Yes, there’s a butt-sex scene. But the theater was packed, which says something when you consider that I’m in the conservative and homophobic Midwest. Missourah, as it were. Go see Brokeback Mountain, a tale about two star-crossed lovers who enjoy fishing. (That joke makes more sense if you see the movie. I plan on obnoxiously referencing the movie every chance I get in future posts, so go see it.) Even ChristianityToday gave it good reviews. Heath Ledger is phenomenal, his performance is almost as good as it was in A Knight’s Tale.

even a&f thinks that scientology is bullshit

I was in Abercrombie & Fitch the other day (yes, I shop there, and I am not ashamed of it, you can judge all you like, but at least I wear what I like), and I saw this t-shirt that said “Seriously, what is Scientology?”, or something to that effect, and it only made me love the store more. I mean, you know that Scientology is bullshit when A&F starts putting shit like that on their t-shirts. Cuz you know, those t-shirts only speak the truth. Blonde IS the new brunette, I DO make you look fat, and college girls DO have more fun. I want to buy that t-shirt and send it to Katie Holmes. And just be like, “See Katie, even corporate America thinks you are bullshit.” I would send one to Tom if they sold it in the men’s department too. Cuz right now, even a crappy overpriced $24 t-shirt from a teenage clothing store is classier than either of them.