Tuesday, June 03, 2008  4:25 PM
Colouring outside the lines
Every girl needs a Mr. Big to propose with a Manolo Blahnik shoe. Sex and the City: The Movie is uncomparably, my movie of the year. So it was a feel-good chick flick with all the favourite elements of high-end fashion, hints of name-dropping labels, girl talk and love. All the things that movie critics might discard as frivolous with the rampage of indie, artsy and analytical films in theatres these days with the desire to be known as the edgy and cool one. I've had my share of those films, and I've loved some - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind cleverly hit all the right notes - but give me Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda any day. You'll need to be a fan. I've imbibed all six seasons in every way possible, on flat screens, on floors, on laptops on dark grass lawns, in holes in the walls, in common rooms and in libraries. When that last scene faded with Big and Carrie walking down the streets of Paris in Season 6, it was almost the end of era, and I've been anticipating the movie ever since. Two hours of eye-popping fashion and unbridled laughter and tears for the girls - bam bam bam, two minutes into the show and Carrie had three outift changes. Half an hour later you have the names of brands that probably all clamoured to be in the movie. Dior, Christian Lacroix, Vivienne Westwood, Chanel, Oscar de la Renta, and then you start noticing. Carrie's red-soled Louboutins when she walked into the penthouse, Charlotte's pristine white Chanel 2.55 and their outfits, fashion heaven anyone? Love, in all ways possible. It sparked hope and that giant lump in my throat. That scene when Carrie rushed down the steps in her pajamas and took the subway to Miranda's, with the glittering snow falling and the colourful lights of Christmas - I was positively mesmerised. Miranda and Steve in the middle of the bridge, the custom walk-in wardrobe, Carrie reading to Lily before bed, the Mexico honeymoon that turned out to be an all-girl affair at Carrie's lowest, Samantha's sushi night, the various depictions of love. Everyone in the theatre identified, and I've not seen such apparent audience participation. The gasps when Carrie presented Louise with the Louis Vuitton box, the claps when Charlotte lashed out, "I curse the day you were born!", the outrageous laughter, the sniffles and the mellowed moments when you cosied up to the next one. Couple seats, four girls and Manolos stilletos on big screen - I'd revisit the movie theatre for this one just for the flood of emotions.
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