Sex in the City

Apart from the seeming growth in screeching levels, the long awaited film didn't disappoint. All the expected ingredients were there: clothes, shoes, cocktails and - of course- men.

Luckily the writers have managed to avoid the fate of fellow 90s show, Friends, in that the girls have been allowed to grow up more or less convincingly, thus not looking completely sad or ridiculous - except where it was intended. Certainly there were the familiar romantic faux-pas and more than a fair smattering of non-satisfactory males, but now in their 40s (and Samantha, we discover, about to hit the big 5 - 0 ) the girls are far more women who have begun to develop the capacity for self-criticism more than was ever evident in the television series. 

This is what makes the happy-endings credible. Even the Carry-Big saga is resolved to an extent through self-reflection on both parts. Carry is too easily swayed by the big - excuse the pun - picture and Big, well, not surprisingly realises he is paralysed by his fear of commitment. 

Miranda's full-time lawyer, mother and wife role is not the feminist fantasy it could have been, but a far more real portrait of how hard it is to have it all and not loose something - or yourself. 

Samantha - liberated femme fatal - embraces domesticity only to find she cannot let go of her more animal impulses - though this is slightly spoilt by the not particularly amusing use of a horny puppy. At least she facilitates an essential ingredient of any SITC product - beautiful, naked men. 

Charlotte is perhaps the least convincing and responsible for a large proportion of the shrieking. Her role within the plot, however, aside from providing a cheap 'poo-in-the-pants' laugh, is far more serious than it first appears. Her looks, remarks and actions are often the most-misplaced and naive, yet their consequences are immense. 

Whilst women everywhere may envy the four SITC girls before dismissing them as wistful fantasy creations (indeed, Carry's wardrobe is not that of any journalist I've heard of) the  national obsession with aligning ourselves with one or other of them may just have something to do with the very tangible human qualities they convey beneath the Prada. 

Human, but stereo-typical you might say. The popularity of the show has for a long time raised important questions about the way in which women view women. Whilst we like to find identification, we also lie open to accusations of reinforcing traditional male-authored female stereotypes. It's frivolous and it's fun, but it also a portrait of four very different 'types' of women. 

The question is, should the film be regarded as anti-feminist - because of the central role men play in the plot -  or 'post-feminist'? The men are only painted in relation to the girls (epitomised by the fact that even when we finally learn 'Big's name, presumably for the sake of realism, he is still rarely privileged with its use) and at the end of the day they all get what they want. Or so the story goes.