My dream is to see a movie in which the four Sex and the City ladies are dropped into some ghastly situation and made to suffer over a period of weeks if not months. Brought down to earth and made to taste bitter herbs. Forced to deal with whatever unfortunate circumstances can be imagined or devised. I would not only pay to see this film but would run free advertising on Hollywood Elsewhere to support it. Tell me where to sign.
I could also roll with a movie about their spiritual redemption. Let’s see…an angel named Clarence — a short old guy in his 70s — is sent down to earth to help them save their souls. He tries to persuade them to think about adopting a somewhat less egocentric approach to life — new thoughts, new priorities. They giggle and wave him off, of course.
They all wake up the next morning in Bumblefuck, Idaho, each weighing about 50 or 60 pounds more and with bad skin and horrible jobs at K-Mart and fast-food joints, and with pot-smoking, anal-sex-loving, large-bellied ayholes for boyfriends. And then when the girls have reached the end of their ropes, they all scream out, “Clarence! Clarence! We want to be human beings! We’re not the women we once were….Clarence! Help us!”
And they’re suddenly sitting back in their Manhattan apartments, and are indeed changed women. Those monster incarnations of yore are but an indistinct memory.
Five’ll get you ten that the synthetic female fans of the last two Sex and the City flicks would boycott the Clarence movie….whaddaya think?