I went to see Sex and the City tonight with a group of women in their 20’s, much younger than Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte or Miranda. I’m older than all of them. They liked it, thought it was disorganized, or OK, or so-so or good. I loved it.
As I tried to explain why, I got strangely emotional, struggling to describe how Samantha’s 50th birthday, the remarkable relationship shared by these four friends, the happy endings and the fairy tale aura, just made me happy. It’s tough to measure the impact of experience on a life perspective, or the different perspective of those just beginning to accumulate those experiences; good friends who are young adults newly married or newly parents – still far from my place as the mother of grown sons.
This, the film’s opening weekend, saw it push Indiana Jones out of first place. I’ve complained a great deal about the latest Indy movie. My husband emailed our older son that the movie "sucked." He responded that he had loved, it, that it was just "one big comic book." Clearly, he felt the same way I’d felt about the girls of Sex and the City. As he put it, with his usual wisdom "I guess everything is a matter of perspective."