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Tuesday, Nov 10, 2009
Sarah Jessica Parker has spoiled the delicate chemistry of "Sex and the City" by turning her once-flawed character into a boring uptown bombshell -- and by refusing to get naked.
Jun 20, 2003 | "Sex and the City" begins its sixth and final season on Sunday, and if you were to take the ads for the series at face value -- the ones that have shown up in bus shelters, phone booths and magazines in New York and elsewhere -- you'd think the show had only one star. Those ads feature Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw, the Manhattanite sex columnist whose adventures in the world of urban dating (not to mention shopping) have always been the centerpiece of the show.
The ads, done in moody, soft-focus black-and-white, give off the perfume of tasteful, risk-free glamour. Parker-as-Carrie looks like a '50s Italian movie star in glossily tousled blond curls (with roots just sooty enough for street cred); her dreamy eyes are rimmed with Cleopatra-via-François Nars kohl, her lips molded into a sexpot pout. This Carrie is more together than ever, at least in the magazine-ad kind of way -- you can just tell she's sexier, softer, kinder than before. I'll bet she still smokes, but she probably doesn't wield a butt with the absent-minded, aggressive fierceness of the old days; she now has a heightened awareness of how elegant the cigarette looks perched in her hand. She's more confident and more dazzling than ever, a woman striding toward her 40s with a wan smile and a tight butt.
Would the 1998 Carrie Bradshaw be able to stand the 2003 version?
Ensemble comedies are tricky things, and the longer an ensemble comedy survives, the rockier the terrain gets. For most of its five previous seasons, "Sex and the City" has been the brightest, most stylish, most consistently entertaining ensemble comedy on television. That's largely thanks to Parker, but not solely: Her three costars have always been as integral to the show's pleasures as she is. Kim Cattrall is Samantha, a woman who dates around, happily, without commitment, enjoying a sex life something like the one Hugh Hefner envisioned for himself and his fellow playboys back in the '50s. Cynthia Nixon is Miranda, the sensible corporate lawyer who's tougher and more blunt than most of the men she dates, but who has a core of kindness that the others can't match. And Kristin Davis is Charlotte, the sweet but hardly dumb brunette who believes in true love above all, although she doesn't underestimate the value of real estate.
The four actresses have proved to be a formidable and beautifully integrated team. For the first four seasons, at least, they complemented one another as if each of their careers had been headed toward this single focal point all along. They must be a joy to write for, considering their rapport is almost palpable: They pick up on one another's cues with ease, bolstering their respective strengths and rendering their weaknesses invisible.
But sometime during the fourth season, things began to change, most significantly around Carrie's character. Parker's Carrie has always been the ringleader, and at first, especially, it was easy to see why.
For one thing, the show was based on the work of real-life New York writer Candace Bushnell, with Carrie her fictional counterpart. The role represented Parker's biggest break, after years of being a well-regarded actress but not exactly a star, and it was a break she deserved: Parker is one of the most gifted comic actresses of her generation. Her timing is sure and sharp. She has a knack for physical comedy. And her beauty is more classical than classic: The contours of her features are noble and good-natured. She has the kind of face you'd see on a Roman coin.
All four characters have changed since the show's inception -- they'd have to, or what would be the point? But Parker's Carrie has changed the most, perhaps not coincidentally since Parker became one of the show's executive producers a few seasons back. Since the show's debut, Miranda has had a baby; Samantha has attempted a committed relationship; Charlotte has gotten married and then divorced. And plenty has happened to Carrie, including an on-again, off-again romance with the charismatic and mystifying Mr. Big (Chris Noth) and a messy almost-marriage to the dopey dreamboat Aidan (John Corbett).
But somehow, the story lines written for Carrie now seem bigger and bolder, even as her mistakes and missteps don't carry the same weight as those of the others. There's something vaguely superior, or maybe even not so vaguely, about the way her character eases, time after time, into the show's most glowing light. Parker has changed as an actress, and not wholly for the better: Her line readings can still be wonderful, but there's something stiff and self-conscious about her, particularly as her character has shifted from a loopy, smart, sharp-witted urban beauty to a chic, classy, uptown-style babe. She seems to have slipped all too comfortably into the role of boring bombshell. She was infinitely more likable, and more interesting, as an awkwardly confident city girl.
Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte have grown more complex and more intriguing as characters; Carrie has simply grown more polished. And there's one more thing that sets Carrie apart from her cohorts, and Parker apart from her costars: Of the four, Parker is the only one who routinely wears a bra or "bedsheet bandeau" during love scenes.
The unspoken message is, It's OK for them to take their clothes off, but you won't catch me doing it.
