Haute Topics

Time is tight today, so let's dive right the fuck in...

A.) JAMIE LYNN SPEARS POPS


Where does the time go? It seemed like only yesterday (or at least last month) that the world was balls deep in news about the 'misadventures' of one Britney Spears only to see it all come to a thunderous crescendo when it was announced that her 17-year-old sister was pregnant. Those were the days.

Well bitch finally popped today - a bouncing baby girl named, *ahem*, Maddie Briann Spears Aldridge. Really. Really? Maddie Briann. They might as well have named it Trayla Trash. Or, if it were a boy, Taylor Trash.

I can't get over the sort of Southern baby-name aestethic - I don't even know if you'd call it that. But you know what I'm talking about - that pool of names that Southern people pick from that they think are pretty for some reason? How they name their kids shit like Cassie and Terri Ann and Shawnie and stuff? Ugh. If I were Jamie Lynn Spears I would have gone out of my way to name my daughter something like Guinevere Millicent [Spears Aldridge] or Brunhilda Prudence [Spears Aldridge] or some shit... Good grief...

B.) NIP/TUCK & THE CITY!!!

Reports are swirling that Sex & The City co-stars Cynthia "Miranda" Nixon and Kristen "Charlotte" Davis recently underwent cosmetic surgery to get they tee-ta's lifted and varicose veings plucked on out they legs, respectively.

I.) Who the fuck cares? Why is it news anymore when celebrities get plastic surgery? II.) This means one thing and one thing only: A SEQUEL IS UNDERWAY!!! AHHHHH!!!

That's what it totally means!!! It totally means that they saw the movie, were both like "yuccckkk... ", the producers were like "this was a monumental success... we're starting production on a sequel yesterday", and they were like "I needs to get that shiz fixed, y'all." Totttally...

I'm so excited about this unofficial sequel and I'll tell you what it should be - a prologue. Yep. To what they were doing pre-the first episode... like how they met. I've always hypothesized that Carrie & Miranda were friends from childhood (because how else would a corporate lawyer and a sex columnist be friends? Really.) and Carrie met Charlotte via repeatedly crossing paths at her gallery, but was always unsure about how Carrie and Samantha met... Well...

Last night I was revisitng S&TC, as I'm prone to doing before I go to bed. The episode in question was "Coulda Woulda Shoulda" - where Miranda finds out she's pregnant and initially decides to go for a good-old-fashioned abo. Samantha then says, "Well, we've all been there. I've had two-" then asks Carrie "How many have you had" and Carrie says, assertively "Umm... One!"...

Later, Samantha and Carrie are walking down the street discussing the unpleasantness of it all and how Carrie is going with Miranda to soften the blow. Then Carrie starts reminiscing about the guy who knocked her up all those years ago - he's a loser who still works at a TGI McFridays... - and remarks, "I could have a 13-year-old child by now"... THEN says to Samantha "But then I would have never known you".

CARRIE & SAMANTHA TOTALLY MET AT THE ABORTION CLINIC WHEN CARRIE WAS GETTING HER FIRST ABO AND SAMANTHA WAS GETTING HER SECOND ABO!!!

It all makes stunning, stunning sense. When Samantha asked Carrie how many she had at the breakfast nook, Carrie said "Ummm... One!" as in "Uhhh, you were there! That's how we met, asshole!" --- Anyway... yeah... make the sequel about shit like that.

C.) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DLISTED.COM's MICHAEL K!!!

Lift a glass and make a toast to the ultimate tastemaking blogger - and my inevitable future husband - Michael K. of dlisted.com - thank you for the countless hours of entertainment.

D.) THE HAUTEST TOPIC OF ALL...............

TUESDAY TUESDAY TUESDAY!!!

AND, I'm very pleased to announce, we'll be having a very special guest: Septugenarian sexpert SUE JOHANSON!!!

It's going to be OUT. OF. CONTROL.

I've used far too many caps this time around...

OH - and this was my 300th post. Who knew?

--- Aj

What the balls is a Flibbertigibbet???

Well, according to wikipedia, it's a term used to describe a flighty, whimsical, gossipy, overly talkative person and has its roots in Anglo-Saxon mythology and Shakespearean lore.

It's also used by one of those bitchy cunt nuns to describe Maria in the song "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?" in The Sound of Music.

The song, "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?" is the title of a reality show currently on CBC which sets out to find the lead in the upcoming Mirvish production of The Sound of Music.

AND I'M OBSESSED WITH IT!!! AHHHH!!!

Seeing as I work at Mirvish, the lot of us went over to the CBC atrium yesterday for the official unveilling and press conference of the Top 10 Marias hosted by ever-delightful and super-sweetheart Gavin Crawford.

I happenstancially taped it on Sunday night and it's some good times, y'all. Hundreds upon hundreds of obnoxious, outgoing female musical theatre types auditioned in front of a panel of judges that included:

A dude named Simon Leeds, who is A.) Andrew Lloyd Webber's right hand music dude and B.) Busted with a capital B... if the damning effects of the tanning bed weren't made clear to me yesterday upon laying eyes on this man, I don't know what will...

Another dude named John Barrowman, who's apparently a leading man in London's West End and one of the stars of Doctor Who. He's A.) Smarmier than a tiger-skin rug soaked in perfume and B.) Debatably British. He doesn't speak with an accent. Maybe it's some sort of gesture to being on Canadian soil. It's weird.

Annnnd...

The hottest bitch alive, Elaine Overholt (pictured). Here are the deets about Lainey O - she's a vocal coach and arranger who's worked on Chicago, Hairspray and a slew of other big shit deal musical endeavours. Buuut - before all this fame and acclaim came to her, she worked on a little show called "Popstars: The One" which a friend of mine (who I won't name, but it's not hard to figure out) was on. Elaine and my friend hit it off... after the dust of Popstars: The One settled, my friend went and worked as Elaine's personal assistant. During her tenure, one of the greatest stories was relayed to me that I've ever heard: Elaine frequently holds vocal workshops. They'd be held in some sort of conference room. Chairs would be set up facing the front, recital-stylez. As guests would filter in, Elaine would greet them - "Hello. Oh, hello!". Then, some point after, Elaine would tap my friend on the shoulder, say "It's time", and disappear behind a rice-paper folding screen set up at the front. My friend would then go to the front, ask people to get settled, welcome to the workshop, saying something to the extent of "Are you ready to raise your voice in song today? Please welcome your friend and mine, Elaine Overholt!"

At which point Elaine would emerge from behind the rice-paper folding screen. Yeah. She's already mingled with people. Then disappears. Then reappears. If there's one person who knows the effect of and the desire to make an entrance, it's me. Work it out, Elaine Overholt. FIERCE.

Anyway - they're the judges. And along with Andrew Lloyd Webber, they selected the Top 10 girls who could each be Maria. They're a mixed bag... let me tell ya...

Yesterday at this press conference it expressed by 'leading man' John Barrowman that all of these girls could be Maria - they're all talented and right for the part (I WHOLE HEARTEDLY DISAGREE) - this is merely a matter of letting the public decide who they very specifically want for the part. Yep - Canada votes. It's like Maria Idol. I don't know about that... upon expressing how iffy I was about that, I was told that "it was a hit in England" - where seemingly everything television-wise happens first. I said that maybe true, but Canadians are a.) working on a much smaller scale and b.) oh-so-fucking apethetic about this sort of shit. They're not going to furiously vote for a girl who stole their heart then climb out from under whater rock they live under to flock to Toronto to kiss her feet. Anyone who does watch this and somehow feels motivated to vote is just going to vote who reminds them of Julie Andrews the most...

That said - my favourite is EASILY Janna. EASILY. LOOK AT HER!!! She's perfect. In that she reminds me of Julie Andrews the most. And I lovvvves me some Julie Andrews.

Plus - from what I've seen - she can actually sing and actually act and - most importantly of all - twirl like there's no tomorrow. Twirling is paramount.

And she stands out from the pack - upon seeing them yesterday, it was just a bunch of slightly out-of-shape sopranos who nattered like birds. For real - they all sound the same... when they laugh, it's in melody. It was all very reminiscent of Amy Adams as "Princess Giselle" in Enchanted. Picture that TIMES 10.

So yeah, I don't know what shape it's going to take - the competition, that is. At first I thought it was like each week they all took the stage and performed the same song from the show, and the audience voted on whose rendition they liked the best... like "WEEK ONE - THE LONELY GOATHERD!" But apparently it really is Idol-stylez... different songs, different genres. And really - this is a better prize than the one they receive on Idol. On Idol, they're groomed to be disposable domestic products... they get to make an album and have some time in the sun for one year and one year only - it's all very akin to Miss America at this point. But this show, they actually get something useful - a job. I'd have to imagine whomever wins this will probably have equal if not greater notoriety than the winner of the current season of Canadian Idol, so hey, good on ya...

Anyway - that's what I'm obsessed with... Jesus in heaven, there really is nothing on television this summer...

I've heard it re-airs tonight at 8, so why don't you tune into CBC tonight and see your tax dollars at work...

Something that will NOT be re-airing, so you best not miss it ---

JUST UNDER ONE WEEK AWAY!!! AHHHHH!!!

That'll be it today. Did you know that tomorrow will mark my 300th post?

Fuck. What have I done with my life?

Ta!

--- Aj

The gayest night of television... ever

Hey friends,

I am sooo underslept and o'ertired today...

For reasons still unclear to me, I decided to venture out at 11 PM (YES. 11 PM. ON A SUNDAY NIGHT... generally, by that point on any given Sunday [literally any given Sunday... not suggesting some weird intersection betwixt the Jamie Foxx movie and my life] I've been asleep for 5 hours...) to Revival for Perez Hilton's post MMVMA party that I randomly got an invite to.

I decided in lieu of y'know, actually getting an invite to the ceremonies (... yeah.), I guess I'd snatch a teency piece of that pie and go to this party. It was certainly a dressier affair than I thought it'd be... no 'celebrity sightings' per se... unless you count Mario 'Perez Hilton' Lavandeira himself... and it's entirely possible that there were cast members from The Hills there, but it's also entirely possible that they were just other synthetic, desperate hangers-on from Canadian soil - it's kind of impossible to tell from my estimation.

Anyballs... hung out there for a bit... downed a few Heinekens... shot the shit with Tranthony, Dini D and Sabrina, then went home...

But before that... a thoroughly gay evening of television...

First up: T-T-TONYS!!!

Yeppers... the 109th annual Tony Award telecast happened last night... a poorly-rated good time was had by all...

I never used to watch this shit, but now I can't tear myself away. I hesitate to say that it's mandatory for a gay dude to watch the Tonys, because it totally isn't... just because you're gay doesn't mean you HAVE to watch the Tonys... but it's kind of like when a Jew eats brisket - it just feels right. Like you're doing something very traditional and indigenous to your people. Am I little out on a limb here? Yes? Okay... well, pressing on...

Whoopi Goldberg hosted, and just about bored everyone to tears. Holy shit. It was like she was about 5 beats behind every time... as a matter of fact, the only time I was actually entertained by the Whoopster all evening was when flew out dressed like Mary Poppins... I felt that was how Miss Celie in The Colour Purple would look like present-day...

Sidebar: the tranny behind Whoopi's getup all night? Project Runway winner/proprietor of all things fierce, Christian Siriano. It was no small feat that he got her out of her signature extra-large untucked denim shirt and stirrup look that she so often rocks and into his signature hot tranny mess look...

Someone who was NOT looking like a hot tranny mess for once, or at least a lot less of one, was Liza Minnelli. Holy balls!

She was looking shockingly un-busted last night - so congrats, Liza! Fortunately, she was still all kind of crazy - she said something to the extent of "For an actor... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... the theatre is home... ... ... ... ... [delivered with total, complete commitment, thinking that this is the punchline to end all punchlines]... BIG, ISN'T IT?!"

Just something that struck me funny.

Another thing that struck me... How Glenn Close looks more and more like Ed Harris with each passing day. Observe:

Jeez Louise. Still in need of some more feminine facial features. She actually makes Ed Harris look downright dainty by comparison...

Anyway - enough talking about who looks busted and who looks busted-er, as fun as it is - other highlights included, but were not limited to: the original cast of Rent reuniting on stage for "Seasons of Love", performances from rock musicals du jour "In The Heights" and "Passing Strange", the formerly-anonymous journeymen actors of the Steppenwolf company completely cleaning up for "August: Osage County", the cut-off jorts that Xanadu's Cheyenne Jackson wore and of course... the human equivalent of a lightning bolt coursing through your body - Patti Motherfucking Lupone...

Holy FUCK. Work it out, Patti LuPone. Does anyone else remember the show "Life Goes On"? It was the show that had the guy with Down's Syndrome on it - Corky, I believe. I watched it because it was on Sunday nights right before "America's Funniest Home Videos" - and Patti LuPone played the mother, 'Libby'. That's how I knew her. I was totally unaware that she was so crazily ferocious. Good on ya.

Highlights DID NOT include: that bitch from The Little Mermaid, those bitches from Grease, that bitch from South Pacific winning instead of that bitch from In The Heights, and speaking about In The Heights - when that dude won and went up and basically rapped his acceptance speech? I felt very uncomfortable. Like, very uncomfortable. I know I reference this scenario a lot, but I felt watching that the way I do when a retarded person accosts you on the subway alerting you that your shoe is untied and insisting you tie it.

Anyballs... that was that was that.

In other news: JUST OVER A WEEK AWAY!!! AHHHH!!!

That's all.

--- Aj

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Hmmm... I don't quite know what that title's about, but whatever.

Well, I do, but yeah... more on that shortly...

Sorry I've been such an asshole about posting this week. I've just been all of sorts/whack. Last night it was between blogging and cleaning my apartment, and in the rarest of rare turns - CLEANING actually won out.

I've been in this ass-nasty habit of just shoving my clothes into my closet like I'm disposing of a corpse before company comes over, so I decided to embark on the Mount Everest-ial challenge of cleanin' out m'closet - and no, I did not do it to Eminem's "Cleaning Out My Closet" on loop.

I filled a garbage bag to the brim with shit that I'm just amazed I hung onto - cargo pants purchased sometime between 1998 and 2000... synthetic Le Chateau man-blouse after synthetic Le Chateau man-blouse... and more slogan-T's with tart, naughty sayings on them than any one person needs... GONE! I'm feeling so minimalist now, and I love it.

Anyballs... in other news:

Question: DO YOU THINK THIS LOOKS LIKE ME?!


His name is Chris. Chris Jarosz. He's a contestant on the current season of the most belligerently-titled series of all time, So You Think You Can Dance?

One of my facebook friends - a gal known only as 'Shawna F.' - made a post on m'wall alerting me to the fact that I have a supposed doppelganger on So You Think You Can Dance? yesterday, and although I was very adverse to this at first, I'm learning to live with it now...

It wasn't until I actually saw the bitch in action, that I started to understand where she was coming from... Here's him on the first performance show of the season dancing with EASILY the hottest bitch alive, a candid hip-hop hoofer named Comfort... yes... Click HERE to watch it... (I'm having maddening problems with embedding it... sorry...)

First off - that Comfort bitch rules m'world. LOVE IT. Secondly - yeah, that looks like me. Fuck.

Well, hopefully he does really well on the show and perhaps at some point I can hook up with a crooked party promoter who'll advertize parties hosted by him - only it's totally not him, it's me, wearing shades, skulking in the corner, not talking to anyone... a-la that chick who was claiming to be Kim Kardashian and doing the exact same shit...

For real - this red hot tranny mess pictured to the right was hosting parties claiming to be Kim Kardashian, looking like that, and people bought it. Not only did they buy the act, but they bought tickets to parties hosted by fake-Kim.

I can't tell you the severe, uncompromising judgement I have for anyone who would buy tickets to go to a party that was hosted by Kim Kardashian - real or otherwise - in the first place, but holy crap, that's hilarious. And also brilliant. You can bet that I will totally be doing that if he does well.

I'd much rather be mistaken for that Comfort chick, as I feel much more akin to her temperment and fervor, but I'll take what I can get.

In other 'reality television stars are fucking with my life' news, I've been trying to avoid addressing this for a coon's age, but feel now that I must...

Once upon a time, if you googled me, a short list of notable Andrew Johnston's would come up. One was a movie critic for Time Out New York... one was a 40-something character actor who claim bit parts on "MacGuyver", "The X-Files" and "Agent Cody Banks" to his name... one was a former American president who would come up despite the fact that his last name is "Johnson" and not "JohnsTon"... and one was me.

Well that's all shot to shit now - a few months ago this meek, pudgy little choirboy with the voice of a castrated angel marched on stage on a little talent competition across the pond called "Britain's Got Talent". He proceeded to capture the hearts of England (and Whoopi Goldberg, who raved about him on The View) and sailed through the finals, landing at third place and has recently signed a 1 million dollar record deal with Simon Cowell's record label.

ANNND... his name is Andrew Johnston. FUCK!!!

Now when you google/youtube/whatever me, this fucking eunuch is going to pop up. Forever. And his voice is totally going to change any day, so say goodbye to any redeeming qualities he has... he's just going to be this shy, fat guy who used to be able to sing pretty. Glug.

I can't imagine me going to England any time soon. I can't imagine going on stage, being introduced as "Andrew Johnston" and not having that be obvious and humiliating. It'd be like some British comic coming here named Ryan Malcolm or something... well whatever...

Okay... I PRRROMISE more interesting blog fare next week... PRRROMISE...

I also PRRROMISE that this will be awesome:

SOOO close. So, so, so very, very, very close.

Have a terrific Friday/night,

--- Aj

Belated Birthday Roundup

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah...

Sorry I've been MIA for almost a week. Things came up. Namely: a lot of phlegm. I've been sick. Sorry. I don't know how I managed to squeeze out that blog last Thursday, as it was the height of my sickness. It might explain why it was just a bunch of disdainful sentences weaved together, though...

ANYBALLS - despite the fact that I was sick as fuck and probably should have stayed in all weekend... I TOTALLY DIDN'T... snap... that's right - Friday night marked the Twenty-Something'th Semi-Annual Andrew Johnston Birthday Cotillion and OOH-WEE it was a doozy...

The theme: every guest needed to come as something I've photoshopped them as... Here are the sometimes hilarious and often sexy results...

TALK about mixed company: Heidi Montag and Kathy "Annie Wilkes" Bates...

Of MacDonald's lore, The Hamburglar...

Yours truly as a very pregnant Angelina Jolie and the YELLOW! Rosie O'Donnell...

Nip-Slip queen Tara Reid...

Tranthony Suppa as Katie Holmes, in all hir glory...

In costume change #2, Rita MacNeill and Angelina...

New mom Nancy Grace...

Newer mom Michelle Duggar with Katie...

The Captain & Tennille/Tennille & The Captain...

And, of course, no party would be complete without Christine "Rojo Caliente" Marinoni...

T'was a fun night.

What's that? I looked expontentially more like Dog The Bounty Hunter than Angelina Jolie and I'll have to live with that for the rest of my days? Agreed.

That's all...

Exceeeeept...

JUST UNDER TWO WEEKS AWAY!!!!

CAN YOU BELIIIIEEEEVE IT???!?!?!?!?!

I went postering on Friday. Not because I felt well, but because I had to. And holy mother of God it was hot - like Louisiana swamp hot. I sweat clear on through what I was wearing. It was a very enjoyable experience. I don't know why I'm telling you this.

I'm back tomorrow with more topical goodness than you can shake a stick at - and oh, you'll want to shake a stick at it. Trust me.

--- Aj

Is 60 Sexy?

Well, that's a question that I'll have an answer to in a matter of years, rest assured. Because yesterday saw me turn another year older... huzzzzah...

Yep. I'm now officially late-mid-twenties/mid-late-twenties as opposed to regular old mid-twenties. Whatever the fuck it is, the glass is half-empty, not half-full. *Sigh*. Oh well...

Sorry I haven't posted since Monday's blogstravaganza de Sex & The City, but I figured, seeing as that was 4,000 words long, I figured I had a few off days. So yesterday was spent enjoyably enough. But can I TELL you about the fucking day I had on Tuesday? HOLY CRAP...

SO - Monday night, I get a call from my former agent saying that I had been requested specifically to come into a casting house in Toronto to audition for a Futureshop commercial. This is odd. I'm currently unrepresented and my former agent is no longer in business, so yes, I'd imagine that if someone in the casting world wanted to see me, they'd certainly have to do some searching around to find out how... (or you could just facebook me... really, either/or).

So I find this all too curious. Me? Requested specifically? For a Futureshop Commercial? Whyever for? I went down and relayed this circumstance to one Kathleen Phillips - Toronto's premiere alternative character comedienne who'll be appearing in her first full-length one-gal show entitled "Kathleen Phillips Is... Beside Herself" later this month... can't wait! - and she speculated that 'maybe they want some gay tech guy'... a theory that would have made perfect sense...

To say that I had trepidations about going would be the understatement of the year... I hate hate HAAAAATE auditioning for commercials... it's not my bag... I can't imagine an existence worse than being some theatre-school grad whose day/life is filled by auditioning for commercials... I could care less. And the money really isn't that terrific. Unless you're the Snapple Lady or some shit like that, it's only a couple grand here and there, it takes months to see the money and you get known as a commercial actor and blah blah blah... none of this applies to me. I'm a live act, a pop-cultural pundit and a 'personality'... soon to be mogul when I launch my line of signature knee pads. I could not care less about auditioning for commercials is the bottom line.

Beyond that, the last time I was at this particular casting house it was SO preposterous I can't even tell you. It was for a callback for - ironically, Futureshop - which ran TWO HOURS late. By the time I get in there this assfuck casting director sees me do it once then says... "hmmm... well, I feel like I should give you some sort of direction" implying that I was a lost cause or something and I'm all OHHHH NO YOU DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKER! For realz - he was one of these bitches who probably started out wanting to be Spielberg but had to settle for being a commercial casting director and hates life because of this... which is such a shame... such a shame that I've already made more of a contribution to culture than he would doing what he does dozens of lifetimes over, but I digress...

Anyballs - I sit around, waiting for this assfuck casting director to send me the sides he said he'd send the night before, I e-mail twice, call twice, nothing. All signs are point to DO NOT GO. But I couldn't help but wonder: what sort of part in a Futureshop commercial is SO right for me that I'm requested specifically?! Ooooooooooooh! You know how they say that curiosity killed the cat? Well flattery killed the fag...

So I go. Curious as all get-out. When you get into these things, there's a sign-up sheet that will be like: "Name, Agent, Agent's #, ACTRA #, Time arrived, Time allotted"... I don't have an agent nor an ACTRA # (ACTRA's the actor's union... I'm non unionized) so right away that's three "N/A"'s in a row... awesome... I go up to the bitch behind the desk and say that I never received sides and have no idea who I'm here for (here comes the surprise!!! ooooh!!!)... it's just some random dude who fixes shit in the background - the same one that fucking 30 some-odd other dudes are auditioning for... I saw RED...

So I'm sitting there. Listening to these 5 actors who were ahead of me in line (and had been waiting for like, an hour) who know each other talk about this so excitedly, ACTUALLY running their two lines with each other, and holy mother fuck it just made me want to put a gun to my head... I sat there for about 5 minutes, then put on m'jacket, grabbed my gym bag, pulled out my Diet Coke, flounced my fierce ass up the counter and, as faggily as I possibly could have delivered it: "Hi. I have a very narrow window of time today [illustrated by me miming closing a window], so if I can't do this in the next 5 minutes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave." MmmmmHmmmmmm... I was like "See ya in Hell" thinking that would be over and done with it...

Well, the bitch called my bluff and ACTUALLY put me ahead. WHAT?! Well... I certainly wish I would have known to do that back in the days that I was actually auditioning for shit and waiting for hours on end... so there ya go...

Anyway - the thing went fine. I tried my damnedest to look like I didn't completely NOT want to be there. I ran the fuck out of there, called Yerxa and proudly proclaimed "that is my LAST commercial audition ever".

So, to whomever at Futureshop did want to see me specifically, and thought to themselves, "you know who we should get for this behind-the-scenes tech guy in our latest commercial for home gaming? Andrew Johnston!" - while I can't express how flattered I am that you thought of me, for future reference: LOSE M'NUMBER, BITCH!

And that's that.

Speaking of bitches...

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH SNAP!!! Yeppy. It's that time of the month again.

I feel as if I should leave you with something funny...

A dear, dear friend of mine, Kerri Carrisse, posted this on my wall yesterday. It's one of the greatest things I've seen in my life...

Yep. Amazing.

Bye!

--- Aj

Sex & The City: The Movie: The Review

Okay.

This is going to be interesting.

WARNING: (And I'm entirely serious about this...) DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU DO NOT WANT TOTAL, COMPLETE, ABSOLUTE, UNASHAMED SPOILERS...

I'm not just talking about divulging plot points - I'm fucking just givin' away end points as well... Imma ruin it, RIGHT NOW...

So, AVERT YOUR GAZE/GAYS RIGHT NOW LEST THE S&TC MOVIE EXPERIENCE BE COMPLETELY SPOIL'D!!!!!!

Last chance...

I'm not kidding...

Don't read any further, as tempting as it sounds...

This is actually going to be kind of a depressing post...

Alright...

Here we go...

FINAL FINAL FINAL chance to steer away...

Okay...

So Thursday night I had the opportunity to attend an advance screening of Sex & The City: The Movie with a gaggle of friends, old and new, at the Varsity Cinemas, right here in Toronto. We had been drinking cosmos for nigh on 2 hours before heading down, so we were in a pretty festive mood (some of us more than others... you know who you are [and it's not who you think. Yeah.]). Beforehand, I was remarking to some of my acquaintances that I think S&TC is so fond for us is because it really was the timely zeitgeist of our University years - the final episode aired my final semester - a fact that was very clearly represented in the crowd... allllll 20-something gals and gays...

After 18 million previews for stone-cold chick flicks a-la "He's Just Not Into The Sisterhood of the Travelling Secret Bees", the movie finally started... A misleadingly brusque recap of where we left off with the four girls and where they are/what they're doing now right off the top... the entire cinema practically cums their pants... it's a sensory overload... like dumping blood in shark infested waters - HOLY FUCK!

The movie opens up with Big and Carrie cooking in the kitchen... Carrie discussing that she needs to get things in order, that nothings certain, she can't predict her and Big's future, and I guess all this non-committal-ness gives Big a boner because then he very uneventfully proposes to her... the audience cums their pants yet again... THIS IS THE MONEY SHOT THAT WE'D BEEN WAITING FOR BUT NEVER GOT!!! YES! And promising, off the bat.

More blood into the shark infested waters: We get our first shot of the girls coming together and trotting down the streets of Manhattan. At first, it's just Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda strolling along, Carrie mentioning that Big's buying them a penthouse and it's going to be fabulousity... then they meet up with Samantha, who's apparently just flown in from LA and boy are her arms tired. Y'see, Samantha's now LA-based, running a management company that revolves around her boy-toy, Smith Jerrod.

Suddenly, we're back at the gals' favourite brunch hutch - ANOTHER COLLECTIVE AUDIENCE BONER - only this time, there's a fifth at the table... Charlotte's adopted Chinese daughter, Lily, who's just about as cute as a pony fucking a kitten... times have changed, and now they have to code talk about 'fucking' into talk about 'colouring'... Samantha's not getting laid, as Smith is very busy shooting long hours on the apparent 'hit TV show' he's on... Miranda - who loathes her Brooklynite existence with every fibre of her being - also has no time for 'colouring'... and point made crystal clear in a scene in which her and Steve are 'colouring' and she abruptly asks "okay... can we wrap this up?"... yeah... SNAP! This obviously doesn't sit well for Steve...

Anyballs... the next 'collective audience boner' scene I can remember has Carrie packing up her apartment and deciding what stays and what goes - culminating in the hardest department of her hoarding: the clothes. We're then treated to a fashion show of her past outfits and Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte holding up signs that say "take" or "toss". Some hilarious, hilarious 80's outfits that obviously go, and then, the last outfit she trots out - the tank top and the tutu from the original S&TC opening!!! AHHHH!!! I lost it. LOST it. Obviously, that one stayed.

I'm sure more shit happens, but the next thing that happens that I remember is an entirely different fashion show - Carrie modelling her potential wedding dress for Charlotte and her main gay, the scarcely used Anthony Marantino played by the ever-irascible Mario Cantone. The dress is fugly. It's a vintage suit with some sort of embossed floral motif smack dab in the centre. They're decidedly against it, but Carrie insists that it's perfect because this wedding will be a small affair and speak about the simplicity and definitiveness of Carrie and Big's love. Whatever.

Then she's summoned to Vogue... by her editor, Enid Frick, played by a downright SHOCKINGLY busted Candice Bergen. Time hath not been kind to Ms. Bergen. Nevertheless... Enid says that Vogue wants to feature her in a shoot of crazy haute wedding garb in a piece called "getting married at 40" or something. Carrie reluctantly agrees.

If part of your S&TC viewing enjoyment was spotting labels, the next sequence would have induced a seizure that might have killed you - a montage of her wearing a wedding dress by every designer under the sun. It was extravagance that would have made a scene of Marie Antoinette feasting on pastries look like the Paper Bag Princess mackin' on apple sauce, yo.

After the spread comes out, Carrie receives a gift from one Ms. Vivienne Westwood saying she saw her in the layout, and that the Westwood dress Carrie modelled was 'made for her'. Suddenly, a small wedding no longer seems fit.

All of a sudden, Carrie turns bride-zilla-esque - the wedding party swells from 75 to a whopping 200+, it's going to be held at the New York Public Library, covered by Page Six, blah blah blah - IT'S GOING TO BE A BIG FUCKING DEAL. Guess who's not cool with this? Big. He's all "this is my third time getting married" and he doesn't want all this attention paid to it, but Carrie's insatiable.

Sometime before all of this, Miranda's in the kitchen of her Brooklyn brownstone, going through the motions of some wifely/motherly duty and Steve blurts out: "I slept with someone else". Just like that. Although it's never revealed who, I've narrowed it down to A.) Magda, B.) his ex, Debbie, or C.) Nina Katz. Anyballs - I don't really feel the need to draw this out - Miranda's super pissed and moves out.

Cut to: the rehearsal dinner. This is where - if you're SUPER attentive - you can spot a bunch of former S&TC bit characters who are given 0.0 lines... I spotted the irrepressible Bitsy Von Muffling-Fine, and I'm sure there are more to be found... it's here when Steve - who was apparently shunned from the wedding after this - shows up because he knew that Miranda would be there and she hasn't been returning his calls... it's actually a really cool scene - Big, Smith and Harry are all outside having a cigar and then Steve shows up and it's like "Ahhh all the men are together!! Quick - someone get Jack Berger, Aidan, Dr. Robert Leeds, Trey MacDougall, Richard Wright and Mitch 'Mr. Pussy' Sayler for a group shot!!!" - but no...

Anyway - he tries to talk to Miranda in the rain, she outrightly rejects it, leaving him with these parting words: "I changed who I was for you!" Very dramatic. Miranda marches back in, Big tries to talk to her and she imparts this pivotal plot-altering statement: "Don't get married. It all goes to shit" or something. Well, this is very impressive to Big, because:

Next Day. The big day. Bells are ringing. Bridesmaids are bridesmaiding. Carrie's getting dressed. Yadda yadda yadda. Big's trying to call her. He's trepidatious, but not completely going to pull out - he just needs to talk to her, they'd reaffirm their feelings for each other, and things would go off without a hitch. Well, not if Charlotte's mischevious adopted Chinese daughter has anything to do with it... she hides Carrie's cell phone. Big can't get a hold of her. He panics. Doesn't show.

Carrie's left at the altar. Ohhhhh fuck. This isn't good. Everyone's stomach is churning. If only he could have talked to her. Carrie and the girls speed off in a cab and at some sort of intersection, come face to face with Big in the car. Shit hits the fan - the girls get out and pummel him with the wedding flowers... "I knew it! I knew you would do this! It's OVER!" shouts Carrie. It's all very heartbreaking. It also kind of makes 0.0 sense, a recurring theme of this movie, but meh - whatever.

Because S&TC wouldn't be S&TC without unrealistic, needless jet-setting to fabulous places on a whim, Samantha manages to broker Carrie & Big's honeymoon into a group vacay for the gals within a split second. So they go. To Mexico. Carrie refuses to get out of bed. She's beyond heart-broken. It's here when Kristin Davis' Charlotte shines - she keeps on being overly cautious with everything she touches, justifying it under her breath by saying "It's Mexico!", then eventually swallows a mouthful of water in the shower and poops her pants... HILARIOUS! Hilarity rivalled only by the shot of Miranda's downright feral unkempt bush...

The gals return from Mexico and back to life, back to reality. Carrie manages to score her old apartment back (possibly the most unrealistic occurrence in this movie) and decides it's time to hire an assistant to do her bidding. Requisite burnout and borderline-retard montage not unlike the one in Mrs. Doubtfire when Robin Williams calls Sally Field as a bunch of crazy characters before he scores with Mrs. Doubtfire. Anyway - at this point, enter one Jennifer "Louise" Hudson. She's perfect! And she rents bags - can you do that? Rent bags? Wow.

Anyballs - she helps get Carrie's life in order, one of her duties is manning Carrie's mail etc... it's here when Carrie tells Louise to definitively block Big from her e-mail. Yep. That's it.

Some more shit happens that I can' remember - Well, I assume that shit happened, this movie was 2 and a half hours long after all... - including a montage of what all the ladies are doing on New Years set to this crazily poignant version of "Auld Lang Syne" sung by this real, old-tymey Scottish bitch... I can't get it out of my head. Charlotte celebrates it with Harry and her little home wrecker Lilly, Samantha and Smith are intertwined in a hot tub out in LA, Carrie watches "Meet Me In St. Louis" (a gift from Louise, who's from St. Louis, and becomes known as "St. Louise") then goes to bed, and Miranda - having just passed Brady off to Steve - sits at home drinking alone. Miranda calls Carrie and is all like "what are you up to?" and Carrie's all "I'm sleeping" and it's all terribly, terribly depressing. Then Carrie bolts down to Miranda's new place in "little Ukraine-town" and they end up spending it together and it's all lovely...

OH!!! One more couple is paid mind to in this montage - STANFORD AND ANTHONY! Yes. They're at the same party, and, upon finding each other at it, say "thank God you're here". Then they kiss at midnight! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! What the fuck happened to Marcus?! And their searing hatred of each other? Could we not have devoted 40 seconds of this monster to explaining that shit? And of COURSE the two gay characters had to end up together... of course... fuck, even Will & Grace didn't pander to that gentrified expectation... and they pandered to a lot... whatever... I'll save the editorializing for later...

Flash forward a little bit: Charlotte becomes pregnant. Charlotte doesn't want to do anything to jeopardize this - like running. But "running is a part of who you are". And, slowly but surely, Charlotte lets go and let's destiny be destiny. Yes. And THIS is Charlotte's big storyline in this movie. Yep. That's it. I'm not kidding - Charlotte was outrageously underused in this. I think Jennifer Hudson's character got more to work with than her. Wow.

Suddenly, it's Valentines' Day: I assume Charlotte spends it with her loving-yet-unconventional family bathed in eternal happiness in her Park Avenue apartment. Samantha, in gesture both romantic and hilarious, adorns her naked middle-aged beav in sushi and waits for Smith to come home. And waits. And waits. And waits. He's waylaid. She finally says "F" it and sheds the sushi - however, not before noticing her attractive neighbors fucking like there's no tomorrow in their bay window that apparently looks right into Samantha's.

Smith comes home and boy is there hell to pay. To the surprise of no one, he's tired after a long day on set and doesn't want to do anything. Samantha then unleashes an unholy barrage of sushi at him and the whole thing is just too funny.

Meanwhile, back in New York, Carrie and Miranda decide to ring in Valentine's Day by having a good-old-fashioned spinster's night out at some restaurant that's overzealously decorated with balloons. It's here that Miranda drops the bomb: she told Big not to get married. Carrie's crazily pissed and storms out of there.

Maybe it was my 17th cosmo-in-a-water bottle or maybe it was the fact that this movie just went on and on and on but quite possibly it was both - I can't, for the life of me, give you a blow by blow anymore. But I can tell you how everything ends...

Somehow, it's convinced that Miranda and Steve go to a couple's councillor in attempts to reconcile - something he's heartily in favour of, something she's decidedly leaning against. It's then decided that they both make a list of pros and cons and set a date to show up somewhere and make the call. The site is the Brooklyn bridge - get it? The thing that bridges Manhattan and Brooklyn? Miranda's past and future life? yeah - and upon seeing each other, fall back madly in love and all is right in the world again. Cut to: a scene of them furiously humping, featuring a full, furious frontal by Cynthia Nixon. "Yikes" doesn't begin to describe how I felt about this.

Speaking of frontal action - albeit not full - Samantha is out for a stroll on the beach one day sporting a ridiculously high-wasted two-piece bathing suit (bitch might as well been wearing a set of olde-tymey swimming trunks) with her new dog (yes... Samantha got a dog...) when the pup wanders up the stairs of Samantha's zexxxy next-door-neighbor, Dante, only to find him naked as the day is long enjoying an outdoor shower. Samantha, who hasn't bounced up and down on anything in a coon's age, is flabbergasted. He says she's welcome to join him any time. She runs away in befuddlement.

Some time later, during one of her many, many, MANY visits to New York (I honestly remarked out loud to myself, "She certainly visits a lot"), the girls notice that she's put some weight on. Apparently, Sam's been eating her feelings - filling the void she once filled with a cock with food. This won't do - sooooo, SHE BREAKS UP WITH SMITH!!! YEP!!! Ha. She ends it. He comes home one day and she says "we need to talk" and he's all like "what now?" and she's all "see ya NEVER, asshole". No. What she actually says is "I love you, but I love me more" - the exact same thing she said to Richard Wright when she broke it off with him, which I can't decide is an homage to a past episode or just a case of the creative 'well' running dry and them just not remembering that they used that line before.

NEVERTHELESS - back in NYC, a very pregnant Charlotte is sitting down for some brunch when who should she see across the restaurant but Mr. John James Preston/BIG. She bolts, he bolts after her. Out on the street, Charlotte becomes hysterical telling Big, "I always fought for you!" and he tries to explain himself - then, POOF. Or rather, GUSH. - Charlotte's water breaks. Because, y'see, in the Sex & The City world, no one's water ever breaks in a non-eventful context. Big whisks Charlotte to the hospital. Some time later, Carrie arrives to meet and greet the new baby, named "Rose" ("Now I have a Lily and a Rose"). Harry tells Carrie that Big was the one who took Charlotte to the hospital and that he was waiting around for her, saying "he really wanted to see you and he's been trying to get in contact with you incessantly". Carrie's all "NO HE HASN'T!!! AHHH!!!" and goes home.

With this thought still lingering in her head, Carrie checks all her mail to see if there's any from Big she hasn't received. Oh yeah - I should mention, Carrie's assistant Jennifer "Louise" Hudson has moved back from whence she came as she re-fell in love with an old flame at a New Years party back in St. Louis, so Carrie's on her own now to do all her remedial day-to-day bullshit herself. Anyballs - still curious as to where this incessant correspondence from Big is, she rifles through her e-mail and remembers that she told Louise to block all of Big's e-mail. Those e-mails are in a folder, but there's a password blocking them. She telephones Louise, but she don't answer. Then she takes a wild stab at the password, and it's "love". Of course it is.

It's here that she's deluged by e-mails from Big, each one more romantic than the last. Quoting all these great lovers and shit, culminating in one that says simply: "No matter what happens - I will always love you." Yep. Re-stating that makes me misty... up here and down there... holy crap - THAT was the proverbial money shot that S&TC fans yearned for but never thought they'd get. At this point, Louise telephones Carrie and she's all "Girrrrrl I miss ya call! What's happenin'?" and Carrie explains the situation from her. For some reason, Louise reminds Carrie to go and get the pair of shoes that Carrie put in the closet of the penthouse that her and Big were to live happily ever after in until things fell through. Yeah - I forgot to mention that... at the beginning, Carrie does that - sort of christens the closet - by putting a pair of Manolos in there.

So Carrie goes to pick them up. Who should she find there, standing alone in the penthouse's barren ball room but BIG. They run into each others arms, have sex on the bare floor and badda bing, badda boom, cut to: City Hall. They have the modest, uneventful wedding that they were initially supposed to have.

Final scene of the movie: the girls, all four of them, sitting around, sipping on Cosmos - "these are delicious! Why did we stop drinking these?"/"Because everybody else started to!" - celebrating Samantha's big 5-0. They toast to another 50 years, Jennifer Hudson's wildly addictive song "All Dressed Up In Love" plays while the credits roll and the stage is quaintly set for a sequel.

FIN.

Now...

Thoughts....

To say that I felt and still feel ambivalent about this whole she-bang would be apt. APT!

If I could say but one thing to definitively sum up my thoughts and feelings about the Sex & The City movie, it would be this: "It was terrible, but not at all disappointing".

And that's the God's truth. It was good-old-fashioned pandering to the show's fanbase and that's all there is to it. Part of me wishes it could have actually been good - that it actually could have been something that pleased the show's rabid fan base, but also stood on its own as being good.

For real - more happened in the two-part finale of the series than did in the movie. And I mean it - more cohesive and comprehensive storylines, more emotional depth, just more substance period! I went in expecting 5 episodes back-to-back-to-back, a mini-season as it were. Not a very far-fetched expectation seeing as they actually did this regularly when the series was on. Maybe it was just a case of rustiness, but it seemed like they barely had the time to accomplish anything - and bitches had over 2 hours!

That said, it sure was nice seeing them again. I don't care how sub-par the actual meat of it was, if you're granted the opportunity to see four of your most beloved acquaintances whom you thought had passed on, however brief and however on their terms, you'll fucking take it. And LOVE it.

So although it was like having a 5 course meal of Mexican food - savoury and enjoyable at the time, but virtually non-existent in two hours time after you're done - I'll see it again. And likely again after that.

The ladies have all held up - I didn't really think any of them were worse for the wear. SJP is still as spritely and toothsome as ever. Kirstin Davis hasn't aged a day. Even Kim Cattrall is holdin' up - and she's at an age where things rapidly go to shit, so kudos to KC. Cynthia Nixon, m'afraid, is rockin' some jowls and that's all there is to it. I assume because she just inhales pussy night after night c/o her lover, the intriguing Christine Marinoni (pictured, to the left, to the left).

I didn't think Jennifer Hudson was terrible at all - I thought she did quite nicely with what she had to work with! Sorry she didn't have an 11th hour showstopper a-la "And I'm Telling You" to deliver, but sheesh, give her a break!

My main gripes deal with the oversimplification of things - Charlotte not having a storyline, Stanford and Anthony uneventfully paired up - but all this can and will be remedied by the sequel! So huzzah for that!

Anyway... this post has been biblical...

Both in length and in its sacred properties...

Peace out,

--- Aj