(Photo: Hailey Eber, inset: movie still)
It looked like some sort of lipstick-lesbian prom—overdressed young woman in pairs and groups, with large handbags, energy drinks, Marlboro Lights, and gay boyfriends in tow. But this was no Sapphic school dance. It was the first showing of the Sex and the City movie, starting late last night/early this morning at 12:01 a.m. At this particular East Village theater in Manhattan, there were no less than four screens showing the flick. There were ladies dressed as loose (pun intended) interpretations of Carrie and Samantha and Miranda, and there were the men that loved them (or were forced to come along if they ever wanted another BJ). Oddly enough, we saw no Charlottes.
By 11:30 p.m. the line was stretched down and around the block, littered with people who had bought their tickets two weeks before. A punky young man walked by the scene of the fashion crimes, lamenting, “Yo, the middle class is disgusting, fucking middle class!” Those in line waited patiently, and, for the most part, soberly. (This writer has no intention of seeing the film while not intoxicated.) One lady moviegoer noted: “This is nothing like the line around the Maritime during Fleet Week.” Wow. Really. Drunk or sober, even we wouldn’t dare go there.