The Tomatometer rating – based on the published opinions of hundreds of film and television critics – is a trusted measurement of movie and TV programming quality for millions of moviegoers. It represents the percentage of professional critic reviews that are positive for a given film or television show.
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The Tomatometer is 60% or higher.
The Tomatometer is 59% or lower.
Movies and TV shows are Certified Fresh with a steady Tomatometer of 75% or higher after a set amount of reviews (80 for wide-release movies, 40 for limited-release movies, 20 for TV shows), including 5 reviews from Top Critics.
Percentage of users who rate a movie or TV show positively.
I walked into the theatre hoping for a nice evening and came out as a hard-line Marxist, my head a whirl of closets, delusions, and blunt-clawed cattiness. All the film lacks is a subtitle: The Lying, the Bitch, and the Wardrobe.
It's just that there's been an altitude adjustment -- fewer stilettos, more flats. Ask what women want of a chick flick and one answer may be this -- a pleasant reunion with cherished friends. Ask what women deserve and the answer is better.
If Sex and the City is a hit, it will be partly because it's an enjoyable and somewhat true depiction of female friendship. But grown women will also go to see it because, finally, someone made a movie for them.
As gender-segregated experiences go, SATC is preferable to, say, that idiotic beefcake epic 300. The amusing thing about SATC is that it objectifies men in much the same way that most male-oriented movies objectify women.
A lot different from, say, watching several SATC episodes on DVD in succession as if gobbling fudge brownies. That may be OK for the living room, but in a multiplex, you just want things to move along already.
I am not the person to review this movie. Perhaps you will enjoy a review from someone who disqualifies himself at the outset, doesn't much like most of the characters and is bored by their bubble-brained conversations.
If it all feels a mite perfunctory, a mite trite and a little dated (the girls haven't heard of the New Frugality?), Sex and the City still manages to be a hymn to hotness, hipness and haute couture, one its fans can happily sing along with.
The movie is just like a half-season of the series -- a funny, sappy, clumsy, crude, rambunctious, argumentative, gleefully vulgar attempt to balance the fantasy of romance with the reality that the fantasy is impossible.
From the running time to the plot development for each character, which grows to beating-a-dead-horse lengths in at least a couple of cases, the whole thing would have been better served by holding back a little.
For those who do not consider themselves to be among the Sex and the City faithful, this is a painful experience, perhaps the longest 148 minutes likely to be spent in a movie theater this year. Watching grass grow is more dramatically satisfying.
Witty, effervescent and unexpectedly thoughtful, the big-screen iteration of the HBO series stands up beautifully (and somewhat miraculously) to the twin pressures of popular expectation and critical assessment.
Bottom line: a provocative, groundbreaking TV series that worked in 30-minute segments has been bloated and padded into nearly two and a half hours of tedium and gratuitous product placement for everything from Vuitton to a new Mercedes-Benz GLK.
Sex and the City: The Motion Picture (not the actual title) is a joyful wallow. And it's more: In this summer of do-overs (The Incredible Hulk, a new Batman versus a new Joker), it's what the series finale should have been.