Maplecrest Trailer Home

Much as it pains me to do so, I must sully the site with HBO’s nightmarish vision of New York and four of its most irritating fictional inhabitants. I must do this because when I saw the trailer I was immediately stricken by its particular ineffectualness. As you may or may not be able to tell, no amount of marketing razzmatazz could sell me on this movie; I don’t own a single pair of heels, don’t wear makeup, don’t care about high fashion, don’t think single gals in their late 30s are uncommonly exciting, aInd I certainly don’t hold any romantic notions about the chaotic stinking mess that is New York City. So you could say I’m not exactly the target demographic here. But I’ve been at least faintly amused by trailers for movies that seemed–hard as it may be to imagine–even more unappealing than this one.

First and foremost it’s a problem of aesthetic distaste. This is really a personal thing and nothing to do with the trailer in and of itself, but bear with me for a moment while I profess my dislike for movies with the for-the-love-of-God-make-me-look-young lighting design/high gloss production finish. I think I can see my reflection in Sarah Jessica Parker’s painstakingly crafted facsimile of a face. And seriously, how many layers of gauze did they have to put over the camera to make Chris Noth look so plucky? According to IMDB he’s 53-years-old. They’ve got about 10 years of marriage before it becomes impotence in the city.

But speaking of the marriage…will it ever happen?!?!?!?!? Let’s consider that as we montage the ladies’ Important Problems while listening to the appropriately bland, Starbucksy India Arie cover of Don Henley’s already lame-o “The Heart of the Matter.” Again, maybe this is just a Kate’s a Hateful Joyless Monster thing, but could that be any less appealing? Where’s the song and dance about vibrator hijinks? The sassy gal chatter? Those things annoy me too, but at least they’re smart advertising. That montage is like watching a Friday night CBS drama set in a dentist office waiting room. Blaannnndddd. In the last third of the trailer they try to kick it up a notch with a big band version of the theme song and some light hearted moments. But you know your movie’s in trouble when the best jokes you can muster–the trailer jokes for heaven’s sake!–are a retread of the exhausted slutty women’s Halloween costumes joke, and a bikini line wisecrack. Also, Samantha slips on some ice? Oh yeah, and she loves Botox! Humor so sharp it could slice through soup!

Honestly what dismays me most about this trailer is not its heinous content–which I would hate not matter how it was presented to me–but its misguided structure. Why attempt to muddle the formula with wedding drama? Why not just mention the wedding as a narrative element, hint at the dramatic tension to unfold, then splice together every other wacky moment you can find and set it to a Scissor Sisters song or something? It’s boring and pointless to pose Sex and the City as anything other than rich, vapid bitches running all over New York flapping their jaws about their sad, desperate love lives and which pair of shoes they’ll buy next to fill the void in their souls.