There's something fantastic about reading a negative review.
The sequel — which should have borrowed a subtitle from another picture opening this week and called itself “Sex and the City: The Sands of Time” — begins with a wedding and never seems to end. Your watch will tell you that a shade less than two and a half hours have elapsed, but you may be shocked at just how much older you feel when the whole thing is over.
I think my favorite would be Peter Bradshaw's review of The Incredible Hulk which is written entirely in "Hulk-speech." A. O. Scott's review of Sex In The City 2 isn't nearly as gimmicky as the Hulk review, but it is similarly enjoyable.
...a chance to wink, nod and drag out Liza Minnelli to perform “All the Single Ladies.” Her version is in no way superior to the one in “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel,” and it is somehow both the high point of “Sex and the City 2” and a grim harbinger of what is to come. The number starts out campy, affectionate and self-aware, but at some point turns desperate, grating and a little sad.
It might be horrible, but there's something satisfying about reading a bad review. Critics seem to take such joy in carefully demolishing a work. There's a real difference between favorable and unfavorable reviews. The bad reviews are better written. They're witty and unabashed about going on the offensive against a film. While a good review attempts to tell you about a film's brilliance and/or enjoyably, a bad review seems to be more of a well constructed argument against the film. It probably says something bad about me that I enjoy them so much.
Later the climactic crisis raises the specter either of Samantha going to jail or the friends having to fly home in coach, and it’s not altogether clear which prospect they regard as more dreadful. That might depend on the in-flight movie. This one is grueling...