Some have to suffer for their art.
That is what so many felt Carrie Bradshaw would be doing in the second helping of "Sex and the City" on the big screen when itfor a brand new HP model.
To experience her purported suffering I decided Thursday to suffer for my art too. Manacled and, perhaps, drugged, I was dragged to a showing of this new installment of four women's eternal quest to find joy that lasts more than half an hour.
Mercifully, the movie theater was half-empty. The movie itself was less than half as bad as many of the reviews had suggested. ("But the ugly smell of unexamined privilege hangs over this film like the smoke from cheap incense" was The New York Times' slightly charitable take.)
However, the issue you will have been craving to digest is just how Carrie looks penning her problematic self-help paean to marriage on something made by HP.
I regret to tell you that the movie offers you no nourishment whatsoever. Despite the fact that Sarah Jessica Parker made a TV spot for HP, despite the fact that HP features the movie at the end of the spot, at no point in "Sex and the City 2" does she embrace the forbidden fruit.
Instead, you will see her old Powerbook in her old apartment to which she retreats to bathe in old experiences. You will also see Charlotte have great trouble getting reception on her iPhone, to the point at which the ingenious writers offer her this joyous line: "Can you hear me now?" This, as far as I am aware, is an attempt by the producers to broaden your Verizons.
A rather lovely PC does, however, make an appearance in the office of the so very politically challenged Samantha. I believe this is called a TouchSmart PC, and I also believe I saw one being proudly poked on "Project Runway."
HP is also proud to announce that "Sex and the City 2" features the HP Mini 210 Vivienne Tam edition. Perhaps it was the effects of my difficult hot dog, but I believe I only saw it in the background of one of the scenes in Abu Dhabi, and I am fairly sure I didn't see it being used. I am certain I did not see it beneath the filigree artistic digits of Carrie Bradshaw. (The lovely nerdettes at Geek Sugar inform me that this Mini is Samantha's.)
I know that all of this information may well affect a significant portion of many readers' weekends. So I can only hope that being forewarned will help you not to have your forearms twisted, should you happen to doze through any portion of this quite stellar contemporary sociological chronicle and critique of Arab culture.