Why Sex and the City prequel sounds death knell for Carrie and co
Self-confessed fan bears the bad news of a prequel to the series
List writer, and self-confessed Sex and the City fan, Lauren Mayberry bears the bad news of a prequel to the series
The TV phenomenon that was Sex and the City was pronounced dead about halfway through film one, roughly at the part where Carrie’s main concern – following being dumped at the altar by two-dimensional, emotionally closed-off borebag and hairwax hoarder Mr Big – is how she will get her clothes back from the hideously large walk-in at their über-apartment.
If film two was the crass, stereotyping and borderline racist nail in the coffin, then the news that American teen network The CW have commissioned a prequel series, The Carrie Diaries, starring Emma Roberts (pictured) is a shuddering kick in the stones to anyone with the vain hope that Hollywood would finally let Bradshaw and co go quietly into the night.
And the saddest part is that once, way back when, Sex and the City was actually great. Over the course of 94 episodes between 1998 and 2004, we were given a programme for women, about women who – here’s the kicker – actually liked each other. Forget your Desperate Housewives, your Gossip Girls and your Ugly Betties. The four protagonists in Sex and the City were smart, funny women who supported each other and faced together the myriad of conundrums thrown up by life as an unmarried gal in a big city.
Unlike the films that followed, the show was witty, clever and reasonably relatable. The things which overpower the big screen adaptations – shopping, shagging and whining – were elements in the TV show, but were far less important than the honest, warm exploration of everything from cancer to infertility, abortion and the marriage race.
The characters lost most of their humour, charm and perspective when chucked onto the cinema screen, as well as their relevance, for anyone who paid to see the cruddy films. One can only imagine how this latest instalment will further flog the poor dead horse, making that pithy, vintage Bradshaw seem even further removed.