Viewing this could make you a cultural cliche
A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine sent me a cutting from the New York Times, tagged Many Women Plan To See Sex In The City In Groups. For a second, I thought he had added ESP to his many talents - within the previous 24 hours, I had emailed three girlfriends to inquire whether a trip to see that very film might not be in order. Then the penny dropped. I was a cultural cliché
This became even more abundantly clear in the cinema - the Barbican in London mind you, that impeccable independent. Everyone in the foyer was a girl, except for a smattering of boys, most of whom manacled and handcuffed. Many of the women were indeed "in groups". Lots of them were wearing quite fancy shoes. My party began to feel rather sheepish.
The advertising rubbed salt into the wounds. This is what was being pushed: Bailey's; pantyliners; hair-removal cream; Cadbury's; H&M; and two girly cars, the Ford Fiesta and the Peugot 308 (voiceover by Working Title favourite Bill Nighy). "I'm tired," said one of my friends at length, "of being targeted. Please can we see some trailers." These were little better: a French rom-com with Audrey Tatou.
And so it was that we were lined up and, wimpering feebly, force-fed brands - before the film even started, which, it has to be said, brought the art of product placement up to hitherto unknown levels of virtuosity. There are other films, of course, that make one feel like a cultural cliché. I'm thinking of the confessions of the 30-something blokes who lined up with the little kids to see Star Wars Episode III Revenge of the Sith, for instance. Or those occasions when you go to a Wong Kar-Wei and everyone else in the audience is wearing just the same T-shirt, jeans and Converse as you. But rarely have I felt like such a clone as I did in Sex and the City. And there am I, kidding myself that I possess free will.
