I know it's a little late to be writing about "Sex and the City - The Movie", but considering that I only watched it now, then it would make sense to write about it now. Pardon my clumsy attempts at logic--I hated my Logic class (but loved my Ancient Philosophy and Political Philosophy classes). Oops, there goes whatever was left of the logic.

Anyway.

The movie is a virtual fashion show, what with all the fabulous clothes the girls were wearing and the constant designer and brand name-dropping going on. Plus, the setting, of course, is glamorous New York.

Watching this, the average twenty-to-thirty-something Filipina trying desperately to balance herself on a tightrope of a low-paying corporate job, numerous bills, daily expenses, meager savings, and sporadic, irresistible urges to shop, realizes that she can not afford to be--and will never become-- a Carrie Bradshaw (not that we want to, anyway).

How many of us actually have rich, glamorous friends to whisk us off to Mexico whenever we find ourselves beset with depression? And I'm betting my bottom dollar (or, my limited edition UP centennial hundred peso bill, that is) that only a miniscule percentage of women will ever own a genuine (there are just too many imitations out there) Louis Vuitton in their lifetime. Don't we wish we also had a rich friend who'd give us an LV bag for Christmas?

This, I think, is where the movie fails.

It is a fairy tale. And aren't we a little too old for those?

An overdose of fairy tales can be unhealthy for kids. (Here, someone clears her throat--me. I had a hard time outgrowing Fantasy Land.) For grown-ups, well, I don't know. I mean, yeah, it's good to keep that child in us, because the process of growing old can be too much for adults--perhaps children will be a lot better at it, don't you think? But the movie is just way too much of an overkill.

It's lush with goodies and eye-candy; as if a woman's reason for living is finding the next fabulous dress and pair of Manolo Blahniks she's supposed to trot around in. Yes, we women are suckers for clothes and shoes--that cannot be denied--but there is such a thing as "too much."

To give credit, there are attempts at plot and realism (huh?), as the movie is not without little touch-ins on girl power statements, marriage problems, women whining about, well, almost everything, and, um, wait. What else did I miss?

Why is it that I can't seem to remember anything more? Blame it on short-term memory loss; perhaps I didn't pay enough attention?

My fault, then.

Or maybe not?

And, oh, I do remember how I snorted when Carrie Bradshaw opens her apartment's new walk-in closet (a huge one, built for her by Big), a wave of happiness washing over her, the moment bringing with it the certainty that their relationship is destined for happy-ever-after.

Funny how a walk-in closet can bring visions of, um, forever.