The people who make "Sex and the City".
Please allow me to explain.
Last weekend my cable company bestowed upon me a HBO free preview weekend. Since I gave up my HBO about a year ago I've had a few of these and I tend to enjoy them. They remind me that HBO is fun, interesting and not worth $16 a month. Still, I spent some time going down the channel guide and set my DVR to "fun". In my personal experience, movies that play on HBO are short on "Oooh! Ooooh! That I've gotta see!" and long on "Well.. yeah I guess I'll give that a shot as long as I don't have to get up off of this couch". My point is that there is nothing, nothing like an HBO free preview weekend to get you to sit there, eat something with red dye #40 in it, attend to the itchy testicle issue and watch anything and everything that is on TV. If TV standards are like your standards in a bar on a Saturday night, these weekends are last call. Light switches are being turned on and off and the only girl left at the bar has a few open sores and a heavy limp. Take a chance, why don't you?
This is the altered state which allowed me to sink so low as to the point where I thought that I'd subject myself to about ten minutes of "Sex and the City 2".
HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF SHIT!
I am someone who has always considered himself a bit of a connoisseur of bad movies. You can often learn just as much from a really bad movie as you can a really good one and, occasionally, even a bit more. They can serve as cautionary tales, as misread roadmaps, as children's placemat mazes that lead to dead ends. Still, in order to find those tidbits, it is necessary to find some kind of anchor, something redeeming you can work your way into the film through. It can be an actor you like, an interesting concept, anything really. Even just the passion of the clearly underfunded and undertalented cast and crew can give you a place to relate from.
Never before have I seen a film that was more impregnable than "Sex and the City 2". Perhaps it's the menopause? Nothing, and I mean nothing in this film is even vaguely likeable, competent or decent. I can't think of any way to take 100 million dollars (actual budget) and spend it in a less entertaining, more sense-decaying way.
Now, I'm not going to waste your time with a scathing review of the movie for two important reasons. Firstly, I only saw about ten minutes of the the thing and secondly, the flat-out brilliant film critic Lindy West already wrote a review of the movie that will stand the test of time as possibly the single greatest film review of the new millennium. I strongly encourage you to read it. To call it perfection is still to do it a disservice. Here is is:
Don't say I never did anything for you.
Anyway, this is not a post about how horrible that movie is, it's a post about how that movie killed a little girl in Florida. Well, that and worse. Much worse.
At the heart of the Casey Anthony trial is woman who is a complete and total sociopath. The more you learn about her, the more deeply insane she becomes. She's a creature who a combination of personality, environment and upbringing have transformed into the living embodiment of selfishness. Every lie, every hot body contest entered, every nanny who's existence she fabricated, every time she attempted to spell "chloroform" correctly on Google and countless, countless other horrible decisions were all done purely out of selfishness. I'd like to think that this woman is an isolated case, an anomaly, the exception that proves the rule. However, I can't do that. Casey Anthony is out there, she is legion and here is why.
There is a pervasive evilness that has started to become engrained in younger American women. It's the kind of thing that takes several generations to really take effect en masse. It's created a culture where being selfish, vapid and whorish is not only not looked down upon, it's celebrated. It's now at the point where it effects all ages, from the middle school rainbow party all the way up to the suburban key party. In my humble opinion, the "Sex and the City" franchise is at fault for much of this. Endless impressionable girls and women of all ages would turn on the TV to see a group of women in their, I don't know... mid-sixties, I guess? dressed up like overindulged circus performers. They would burn through money, spout cliched awfulness and, most importantly, bang every man what sauntered within their field of vision. I would have guessed that this type of bizarre fantasy fulfillment would not catch on. Seriously, who wants to see a group of geriatric, emaciated medical cadavers live life at it's most shallow? As usual, things were much worse than I thought. You'd think I'd have learned by now.
You know those monster movies where some new and terrifying creature runs amok? Many of them end with the "Surprise ending" where we track into the creature's lair to see a nest full of lathery, pulsating eggs that the heroes have missed. This is what the sequel is going to be about. Well, the sequels soon started to come, but what's a sequel of it doesn't do something new with the material? The same awfulness, only instead of actresses who each resemble one or more of "The Three Stooges", these were actual, organic women. It is this trend of turning women from productive members of society into what I have dubbed "Uncontrollable Whirlwinds of Take". Soon enough, the world would know who Paris Hilton was. Paris Hilton would begat Nicole Richie, who begat Kimberly Stewart, who begat Kim Kardashian, who begat more and more and MORE Kardashians (They're like the Armenian version of Gremlins, those ones are). Soon, the already lowered bar would just be completely knocked off the limbo sticks. You no longer even needed to achieve the goal of being from a rich family and blowing somebody. From here, there would be reality shows about women who's claim to fame was that they were married to someone, didn't work and lived in a city. That's all. Not to exaggerate, but there are trillions of these shows now and not a one of them has any redeeming aspect to it at all. It's just overprivileged butterfaces spreading STDs and absorbing natural resources at a speed that would make Unicron, the planet eating monster from "Transformers: The Movie" jealous.
These women are every bit as much Casey Anthony's parents as those two morons in Florida who raised her and her daughter. In a world that teaches impressionable and sub-intelligent women that this is acceptable behavior, Casey Anthony is the next logical step in the evolution of the species. She's the sea creature born with appendages that first laboriously crawled onto the sand from the ocean. Of course, this beach is a metaphor for infanticide, but it works nonetheless, "A journey of 1,000 miles begins with a single step". I'm sure that many girls who were stupid enough to let some meathead knock them up gave a few moments consideration to surreptitiously killing their hatchilngs when their friends called on a Saturday night, asking her to go with them to some shitty bar. Casey's just the first one to do it. The important thing is that the barrier had been broken. A new standard has been reached. From the gaping, cavernous wombs of Carrie Bradshaw and the rest of that feathered floozy foursome has emerged a new strain of bacteria and this one eats it's young.
I'm sure that there will be many more kids, cursed with awful white-trash-invented monikers, who in the coming months and years will be unceremoniously dispatched for the sake of some Jell-O shots and a tramp-stamp-tattoo-exposing table dance. You know what else? That's the least of our problems. When Caylee Anthony died, the world most likely lost an Orlando-based Chili's waitress and at best a Ft. Meyers-based stripper who would go by the name "Peppermint". It's us who are the losers in all of this. We're the ones who have to deal with these people. It's not just on TV, it's everywhere. They're the ones bathing you in their I-Phone's light as they text next to you at the movie theatre. They're the ones who don't get off their phone while ordering at the Starbucks. They're the ones who never signal as their parent-purchased BMW swerves into your lane while blasting a Chris Brown song. This world exists for them and them only. Unfortunately, there sure are a lot of them to go around. If anyone needs me, I'll be inside my place. It's safe here.
What HBO has done can not be undone. I hope they're proud of themselves. By the way, "Entourage" is every bit as bad, if not worse, but that dung pile of a show is directed at guys. Shallow, misogynistic guys with no taste to be sure, but guys regardless. They're not supposed to know anything anyway. You're ladies, you're supposed to know better, right?