Kim Cattrall’s no Henry Winkler, though
I’ve no intention of seeing the Sex and the City film, obviously, but the sheer intensity of the media push for it has got me thinking (one of those eerie media campaigns that, like a Grant Morrison villain, becomes a piece of actual reality through sheer force of the imagination). Sex and the City, for all its purported shockingness, is an extraordinarily nostalgic show; an hour-long cry of “awww, aren’t 1950s gender roles sweet.” A bit like a 21st century Happy Days, but less funny. But this combination of the shocking and the nostalgic isn’t contradictory at all, indeed, the two support each other: it’s “shock” that we’re supposed to be nostalgic about. It’s very comforting to imagine that, once upon a time, there was a time when transgression was thinkable.