Those of you who read Kerri’s post may have noticed that she and I saw Sex and the City together, and oh, what a day it was. There were snacks, there were laughs, and there were many references to the songs of Natasha Bedingfield. There were also feelings of confusion as we breezed into a 3:00 PM show, noticing signs that said the 7:00 and 10:00 screenings were already sold out. Why didn’t everyone just come early? Doesn’t 80% of Park Slope work from home? Anyhoo…

I’m sure you noticed that Kerri didn’t care for the flick. As for me? I’ll start by saying this…

Sex and the City is not a good movie, but I enjoyed it anyway.

SPOILERS AHEAD!

I agree with many of the negative criticisms that have been lobbed at the film. Its shallow materialism, for instance, is revolting. Carrie Bradshaw cooing the names of wedding gown designers as she spins in various dresses? A brazen attempt to equate shopping with spiritual satisfaction. Ditto the scene where sappy music plays while Carrie gives her assistant Louise (Jennifer Hudson) an ugly designer purse. Gift-giving is always nice, but the scene is structured to make the brand name and the expense the elements that make the gift special. Louise talks constantly about loving fancy bags, and then Carrie gives her one: That gesture defines both women through their relationship to merchandise. The purse becomes a symbol of their affection.

This, of course, is the story most companies want us to believe–that purchasing their products is the same as showing love–but it isn’t true. Sex and the City even aired two episodes about the false promises of expensive purses. When Samantha lies about Lucy Liu in order to get herself a limited-edition handbag, she loses a client and makes a big fool of herself. When she and Carrie traipse through L.A. in search of knock-off Fendis, she ends up acting moronic in front of Hugh Hefner (of all people.) In both cases, the moral is clear: Luxury bags will bite you in the ass.

But in the movie, the message becomes, “Give a girl a purse, and you make her your sister.”

The series may have a fetish for shopping, but in the last six months I’ve re-watched every episode, and I can tell you that it’s never as shallow as that. The human realities of the characters always, always take precedence over merchandise. Case in point: When Carrie buys Berger the Prada shirt. Yes, there’s an obvious sop to Prada, but unlike the wedding dress montage in the film, the scene doesn’t exist solely to glorify couture. The real issue is that Carrie can afford a Prada shirt and Berger can’t, and that freaks him out. Brand name shopping exposes the consequences of a woman’s success.

Other shallow elements in the film? Miranda gets mocked for not getting a bikini wax, and Samantha gets zinged for gaining a few pounds.

Once again, there’s an episode in the series that focuses on Samantha growing out her pubes because it turns Smith on. So why turn the tables on Miranda in the movie? Has it ever seemed like Steve would give a damn what Miranda has going on down there? He’s crazy about her.

There are also several episodes that sensitively address Miranda’s post-baby weight gain. So if Samantha is stress eating over her desire to cheat on Smith, why turn her into a target?

Don’t these scenes promote an unhealthy image of what it means to be a woman? Don’t they announce that the SATC gals, those cultural standard bearers for women’s lib, are only valuable if they cover their rock-hard, shaved stomachs in Gucci tank tops?

That’s just misogyny disguised as the Chick Flick of the Year.

However, that’s not the movie’s only subtext. For every scene of the women being superficial solipsists, there’s another where they embody the defiant heart of the series.

When Carrie races to Miranda’s side on New Year’s Eve, for instance. I was moved by the display of sisterly devotion. Sarah Jessica Parker and Cynthia Nixon do some of the best work in that scene, fiercely dedicating themselves to each other.

Likewise, Kristin Davis taps some serious fury in the two scenes that have her screaming at Big. Since Charlotte has never been that angry before, her lioness-protecting-the-pride instincts are especially powerful.

And that final scene… good lord, it slays me. Just like the last shot of season three, when all the ladies are at that party on Samantha’s roof, and Carrie says, “Don’t worry… they had a beautiful life,” the parting moment of the film is a gorgeous celebration of friendship. Watching the women laugh with each other as the camera pulls away from them–framing them to resemble an island of love in an ocean of people–is like seeing the epitome of the series.

Also, I cried when Steve and Miranda reunited on the bridge. Cynthia Nixon and David Eigenberg have so much chemistry that they make every interaction sizzle.

Ultimately, I was craving new adventures from these women, so it was satisfying to see even fleeting moments of the characters and tonal choices I love. Like when Miranda explains to Charlotte about what she said to Big at the rehearsal dinner. The way Cynthia Nixon moves her hands during that monologue is just so Miranda that it gave me a jolt of nostalgic happiness. Like when you see an old friend and she pronounces a word in an unusual way. You had forgotten she talks like that, but when you hear her Boston twang on the word “car,” you get the warm rush of old love. That’s what I felt when Miranda confessed to Charlotte, her familiar Miranda-hands moving to and fro.

But here’s the thing: Since the movie’s opening weekend outperformed every box office predicition, there’s likely going to be sequel, and I don’t feel excited by that prospect. I enjoyed the first movie because it gave me another glimpse of what I had been missing. But to see a second movie, I’d need to believe it was going to be good. Nostalgia gets me in the door once, but storytelling gets me through it again.

And that’s where this film was deficient. So unless they put some O. Henry-level polish on the next script, I doubt I’ll be racing out to see it.

But maybe I will. After all, the memory of great friends can be awfully alluring.