Sex and the City 2: Critic Reviews

As Carrie might type on her laptop while giving one of her girly little shrugs, When did Sex and the City become so long and mean so little?

The ugly smell of unexamined privilege hangs over this film like the smoke from cheap incense.

Perhaps it's time to call it a day.

An insult to the memory of the cleverly written show and its celebration of friendship, it's a slap in the face for the four gal pals (often photographed at unflattering angles) and an affront to Muslims.

An enervated, crass and gruesomely caricatured trip to nowhere [that] seems conceived primarily to find new and more cynical ways to abuse the loyalty of its audience.

Twelve years, one beloved HBO series, and two feature films on, the Sex and the City gals have been reduced to Bratz dolls for grown women.

Sarah Jessica Parker is now 45 years old, and, frankly, I cannot stomach another moment of the simpering, mincing, hair-tossing, eyelash-batting little-girl shtick she's been pulling ever since she emerged...

Though the sequel is a welcome return of the four women we know and love, it's tough not to acknowledge that if we were all friends in real life, at this point we'd probably stop taking their calls.

It's an almost avant-garde adventure in aimlessness.

Like a plastic surgeon, storyteller King keeps trying to find new ways to lift and tighten his characters, but they have become garish caricatures of themselves.

The most depressing thing about Sex and the City 2 is that it seems to justify every nasty thing said and written about the series and first feature film.

Some of these people make my skin crawl. The characters of Sex and the City 2 are flyweight bubbleheads living in a world which rarely requires three sentences in a row.

I enjoyed these characters more when they were rich, rather than obscenely rich, when their self-involvement and life crises had one foot on planet Earth -- and when they weren't all gussied up like Mae West in Sextette.

Thanks to writer-director Michael Patrick King, I now have a fair idea how it might feel to be stoned to death with scented candles.

Sex and the City 2 is a champagne cocktail on a runaway train -- fizzy, sparkly, giddy-making, and splashing all over the place.

Though the 2 in the title implies a double shot of everything fans loved about the series, there is less.

In the end it's the fun movie it's supposed to be. Raise your cosmos in a modest toast.

Honestly, by the time they ride camels, it's Ishtar in designer gowns.

The only thing memorable about Sex and the City 2 is the number two part, which describes it totally, if you get my drift.

As tasteless as an Arabian cathouse, as worn-out as your 1998 flip-flops and as hideous as the mom jeans Carrie wears with a belly-baring gingham top, Sex and the City 2 is two of the worst movies of the year.

It's slower and more of an eye-roller than the first film, but also a lot more about the women.

King and his cast seem content to put everything on autopilot and hope glamour and shopping sprees will be enough to carry them. Nothing much happens -- and it takes 2.5 hours for it not to happen in.

There's so much glossy sheen to the work that it's easy to forgive the contrived "issues" that must be faced for character growth.

'Sex and the City 2': Michael Patrick's Cinematic Train Wreck

It's worse than Sex and the City 1, and that alone is a remarkable achievement.