I always appreciate the New York Times’ roundup of summer movies, where we learn that once again Batman, the Hulk and Adam Sandler will be headlining at the Hell Dodecaplex until Labor Day. How much more warning does one need not to get within eight miles of a theater this summer?
Except I’ll probably have to, at some point. I admit I’m kind of excited about seeing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Solid Gold Sequel. Also, and I’m not proud of this, I made a vague promise to the wife that I’d go see some future movie of her choosing if she didn’t get too restive during The Bourne Ultimatum last year. She upheld her end of the bargain; now I must pay the dreadful price.
Yes, Sex and the City. This is what comes of not thinking things through. If there were ever a movie that is not The Bourne Ultimatum, this is it. If there were ever a movie I’d rather be waterboarded than see, ditto. But a promise is a promise. Unless I can think of some way out of it.
The Times devotes about 4,000 inches to Sex and the City — about the same space Manohla Dargis uses in the same section to resurrect the tired case that you never see women in movies these days. Uh, right. But maybe the aging tarts of Sex and the City do not count as real women, having been caricatures of gay men for lo these many years.
Anyway, I’ll be there. Spoiler alert: In the Times story, director Michael Patrick King appears to rule out killing one or all of the main characters. Sigh. I’ll just have to make the best of it.
It ain’t heavy; it’s a heist picture