Ah, the forthcoming Sex and the City movie. Lost in Showbiz has endeavoured to come up with a cinematic experience it would enjoy less, and has after due consideration alighted upon watching David Cronenberg's Dead Ringers on meth.
Twin gynaecologists, both played by Jeremy Irons, monstrous surgical instruments, all washed down with a highly addictive cocktail of laundry detergent and lighter fluid ... or two hours of surrendering to the four ladies phoning in some discussion about footwear and commitment issues?
I'm finding it oddly easy to commit to my red-robed operating-theatre psychopaths. You, however, might not even need to choose, because the sheer volume of pictures from the Sex and the City set that have appeared in newspapers and magazines over the past few weeks means that those unwilling to buy a ticket can simply mount the images into a notebook, then flick the pages at speed to create their own version of the film. Remember to add your own irritating voiceover, along the lines of: "So I started to wonder: is 'happy ending' just another phrase for [insert sequel-enabling platitude here]?"
Anyway, a wedding was on the cards, but in the context of the show's costumery traditions probably just shows Carrie nipping out for a pint of milk and a scratchcard.
