This just in: The makers of the forthcoming CW spin-off series The Carrie Diaries (a prequel to Candace Bushnell's franchise-launching Sex and the City novel) have found their new Carrie Bradshaw in Soul Surfer/Race to Witch Mountain/Bridge to Terabithia star AnnaSophia Robb. The series "chronicles Carrie’s coming of age in the 1980s when she asks her first questions about love, sex, friendship and family while exploring the worlds of high school and Manhattan." So it's basically Gossip Girl with a Carrie Bradshaw who looks nothing like the future Carrie Bradshaw. Oh, fine. Why not? [Deadline]
Over the last week or so, film-culture observers witnessed an odd phenomenon sweep the country: A palpable, recognizable feel of anticipation -- for an awards show. Even rarer was the reason behind it. When the Hollywood Foreign Press Association announced that Ricky Gervais would return for a third stint emceeing the Golden Globe Awards, we expected a return to last year’s delirious exercise in blunt-force celebrity accountability.
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I'm going to assume none of us learned anything from Garry Marshall's New Year's Eve other than, "I was right to avoid New Year's Eve." Fortunately, there are real lessons to be gleaned from the best in New Year's cinema, and we've lined up five movies with tips for your bash this weekend. Whether you're ringing it in alone or spending it with the grimmest Vietnam vet on Earth, you'll learn something valuable here.
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I don't know how Sarah Jessica Parker does it, but a lot of her movies are staggering shit fortresses. Failure to Launch? Did You Hear About the Morgans? This weekend's I Don't Know How She Does It? The Family Stone? That movie made me feel like Diane Keaton's cancer, and it's still a Mensa candidate compared to today's Bad Movie We Love: the epic, Tropical Skittle-colored trek to Abu Dhabi, Sex and the City 2. It's so famously bad that its bad reviews are famous. It's the movie that asks the question, "How can we save a franchise that has devolved into materialistic fetishism?" and answers it with, "JEWELS." Cheers, girls!
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In this week's new chick flick I Don't Know How She Does It, Sarah Jessica Parker -- she who had sex in the city, a bastion of modern female fabulosity and our generation's go-to, couture-sheathed screen heroine in heels -- attempts to solve the plight of the 21st century woman once more as Kate Reddy, a wife, mother of two, and financial analyst for a high-powered investment firm trying desperately to juggle "it all." How many times do co-workers and colleagues ask her how she "does it?" A lot. That's how much she's doing. But it's not the first time SJP's put her plucky feminine know-how to use in the movies to solve the routine problems of the modern woman.
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With Vin Diesel and The Rock currently muscling their way to global domination and Thor set to kick off the summer's action-packed slate with his comic book brawn, there's already a surplus of testosterone at the box office. But looking forward to the next few months, the field's only going to get more crowded with bromantic buddies, pirates, alien robots, superheroes, and cowboys mixing it up at the multiplex. Where have all the ladies gone?
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