Since it is now federally mandated that all women have to see Sex and the City or their vaginas will be revoked, I moseyed on over to the local cinemaplex to see just what writer/director/producer Michael Patrick King managed to churn out of this long ago played out storyline of four women living in New York and experiencing the resulting relationship issues of living in a metropolis rife with fuckfaces.

What he came up with was: Let's send the menopausal Manhattanites to a place no one has ever heard of except businessmen and terrorists (Abu Dhabi) because Carrie has run out of things to bitch about besides Big enjoying watching TV and eating takeout. And while we're at it, let's have totally inane cameos from Liza Minnelli, Penelope Cruz, and Miley Cyrus. Regardless of how overtly bad the plot is, SATC is an unstoppable moneymaking juggernaut. You could have a movie about those bitches hitting on decrepit old men in a rest home and it would probably still rake in a sizable profit. And I'm sure eventually it will come to that by the time Sex and the City 5 rolls around.

The worst part about Sex and the City is not even the movie itself, but the fact that it totally defies the previous standards of quality set forth by the actual show. In 1998, when Darren Star first innovated the premise from Candace Bushnell's book, there was something gritty and uncharted about it. Season 1 in particular was unconventional in its approach as Carrie would often talk directly to the camera and numerous documentary-esque interviews with people in relationships would be interspersed to tie in with that episode's dilemma. As the show gained in popularity toward its series finale and practically skyrocketed in the wake of its culmination, the benchmark for exceptional dialogue and vanguard issues that few shows ever had the courage to address fell by the wayside in favor of tailoring it to what "the average woman" would want to see depicted onscreen.

No matter how cheesy the first movie was, it didn't include Miranda screaming "Abu Dhabi do!" in some weird, out of nowhere homage to Fred Flinstone. The first Sex and the City movie also refrained from altogether disregarding plausibility. One standout example of this lack of concern for suspension of disbelief is when the four heroines of the story are lured into a secret tent at a local market in Abu Dhabi by some of the repressed, birka-clad females who then reveal the fashionable, designer clothing that they are wearing underneath. There is also no way Samantha wouldn't have been imprisoned and/or just strung up by her perineum for some of the shit she pulls in the movie.