Stretching Out Those Perfect 30 Minutes

Ladies (and select gentlemen), it's May 29. And you know what that means. One day until the premiere of the "Sex and the City" movie.

The Charlotte in me is anxious to reconnect with long-lost friends. The Carrie in me cannot wait to see what ridiculous (fabulous?) costumes (outfits?) Patricia Field has come up with. And the Samantha in me has a crush on Chris Noth. But if you know me, you know that I am Miranda, through and through. I am completely aware of this, and several online quizzes and Facebook applications have confirmed it. That being said, Miranda would be pissed that Hollywood has chosen to adapt a perfectly self-contained serial narrative to the big screen. And so am I.

Of course I'm going to see this movie. I'm completely devoted to the characters in Candace Bushnell's masterpiece, and I will stop at nothing to see how their lives have changed in the past four years. "Sex in the City," even in its censored format on TBS (in which Samantha is practically non-existent), has morphed into a quasi-religion for many of its viewers. Because it is based on Bushnell's personal dating experiences, the content of the show comes as close to "reality" as we're probably going to get for a long time. "Cashmere Mafia" and "Lipstick Jungle" are not even close to the "SATC" realm. And even if viewers can't relate directly to every episode on a literal level (case in point, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in Season Two, when Carrie dates "The New Yankee"), the emotional content hits incredibly close to home. The fact that the drama with Mr. Big is dragged through six seasons is on par with real-time, too. It's not Disney movies that have given us unrealistic expectations about love-it's the pesky 90-minute RomCom formula.

So you can imagine how I felt when I heard that an "Arrested Development" movie might be in the works. While "Sex and the City" and "Arrested Development" share about as many genetic traits as Michael Bluth and Lindsay Funke, "Arrested Development" fed off of the serial narrative format just as brilliantly as "Sex and the City" did. Hell, half of the jokes were contained within the thirty-second "next" segment following the episode.

It's definitely too late for "Sex and the City" at this point; the movie has been made, the advertising campaigns have graced billboards (and buses, for that matter). And I'm definitely not knocking the movie-like I said, I'll be in line, too. I just don't really want to see Mitch Hurwitz subject the precious Bluth family to three acts of melodramatic horror, although I have no doubt that he'll make the most of it.

Part of the joy of becoming addicted to a television show is waiting a week to see what happens next. Think about it: those six days in-between Carrie's doomed move to Paris and her triumphant return to the city that never sleeps were just as thrilling for you as they were for a fictitious character. Each day, the suspense built, and you couldn't help but devise a pro-con list detailing life with The Russian versus life with Mr. Big. And the thrill of the grand finale was totally worth the wait.

You know, it would be good to see the Bluth family again. I'm starting to wonder if the company moved up from "Don't Buy." Aside from "Juno" co-stars Jason Bateman and Michael Cera, the rest of the cast is probably looking to make a few quick bucks. Hey, there's always money in the banana stand.