Sex and the City

Reviewed by:
John Walsh

This isn’t one of those clear-cut Mars/Venus issues, like dust ruffles or Ralph Fiennes movies. You can see some merit in HBO’s Sex and the City (here, in its third season premiere). The cast is—for the most part—appealing enough. But don’t watch it! It’s a trap! That’s how they get you. One swish-pan away from Kim Catrall in a negligee and you’re sucker-punched by the show’s subliminal litany of men’s inadequacies: We’re immature. We’re selfish. We’re insensitive.

Shut up and gimme the remote. This episode serves up more of the same, as Sarah Jessica Parker and her friends judge a beefcake competition on Staten Island. Change of venue from the usual boho nightlife haunts, but the attitude is the same. For instance, here’s a typical line from Cattrall’s character, Samantha Jones: “The only place you can control a man is in bed. If we perpetually gave men blow jobs, we could run the world.”

We’d like to see you try, ladies. No, really: We’d like to see you try. And try again. Often as you like.