Here’s something I actually enjoyed reading in the aforementioned Toronto Metro (available online for the next two weeks in PDF format) — though I actually haven’t watched the show since Season 2, and don’t know if the conclusion is valid or not. Not behind an lj-cut tag because, well, I believe this deserves greater exposure.
Reproduced here without written permission. Download a copy of the freely-available source material (March 23rd issue) if this bothers you.
Sex and stupidity
Character Carrie losing herself at series’ end
Squeak! Squeal! Hop! Clap-clap-clappity-clap!
And with that particular display of glee, Carrie Bradshaw and the people who write her began the betrayal of a character viewers have come to love over the past six years.
In the penultimate episode of Sex And The City, Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie ventured to Paris to join her sexy, older artist sugar daddy, Alexsandr Petrovsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) for the opening of his new show and an unspecified length of time thereafter.
Arriving in Paris, Carrie is so overwhelmed with glee that she goes through the whole little-girl excited routine/Snoopy dance of joy. However, as we soon learn, all is not well in Carrie-land, because — oh, the horror! — people in France speak, you know, French.
After making a good argument in the prior episode, during a fight with Miranda, that, yes, sometimes chucking your career and following your heart is the right thing to do as long as you do it with your eyes wide open and ready to face the consequences, the characters of Carrie does a turn-around and asks viewers to lend their sympathy as she changes her mind. After just one week of suffering abroad.
This character, who has preached for years that women can take control of their lives, be strong and independent while wearing stilettos and push-up bras, go to bed with whomever they please, have exciting careers and grit their teeth, pull themselves together and take it like a (wo)man when they have to pay the steep price of heartache, childlessness, sickness, loneliness and grief; Carrie reverts to a sulking little girl.
She’s upset at the language barrier. She’s upset her friends are far away. And, most tellingly, she’s upset that her guy has a grown-up life with grown-up responsibilities that include, oh perish the thought, work, which keeps him away from reading her mind to suss out what she wants done for her.
When Carrie loses a necklace and Alexsandr gifts her with a diamond replacement, her sulking stops for about 45 seconds, but when (interesting and, it appears, friendly) acquaintances of Alexsandr appear, the broody mood strikes again.
Look at me! Look at me! I’m dressed in Dior. I’m showered in gifts. I have excellent sex on a regular basis. And I’m soooo depressed. The city of friggin’ lights is at my Manolo’ed feet, but I, a seemingly intelligent woman in my late 30s, am incapable of putting it to any use. Because, contrary to what I’ve told you and shown you throughout the show, I AM A HELPLESS GIRL IN NEED OF RESCUING.
Unless you’ve been boarding under a boulder for the last month, you’ll know that rescue isn’t far away. The Big man on the Big white horse is on his way.
Carrie, wake up, redeem yourself and spare us a stupid ending for a smart girl.
The article is tagged only as “Torstar New Service.” I’d like to buy the author a drink of their choice. And maybe have a good night out on the town together. :)