Sex and the...really? Did I just go see it?

OK, OK. After all my ranting and raving about how I would absolutely never, ever, ever see the Sex and the City movie on the big-screen, I feel I must come clean. I did, indeed, attend a public showing of the film for a fee of $12. I sat in the back row of a packed stadium-seating cineplex theater on the weekend after it opened. I laughed, I teared up, I got annoyed, but, overall, I enjoyed it.

To borrow a description from some review I read, it's basically a valentine to fans of the show. It didn't bring anything new to the table, but it was a sweet cinematic treat for the most part. I actually got choked up during one small moment between Carrie and Miranda on New Year's Eve.

The girls looked good. They must've all been doing Pilates around the clock for the past four years. Also, they acted their ages, which was a relief—a little more subdued and reflective, although they do get in a few shrill, girlish shrieks. Ouch. Let me just say now, no man should ever have to involuntarily see this film. It will be ever more painful than any "waiting outside the department store dressing room while my girlfriend/wife tries stuff on and asks for my opinion over and over."

As many others have noted, the movie's success is rooted in the same thing that made the show such a success—the celebration of true, abiding friendship.

So, now that I've sung the praises of the film I beat up before seeing it, I would like to share some whines, as well.

Spoiler alert!

My big beefs with the film:

- Children are weird accessories. Charlotte's kid is practically mute. Brady gets stuck at another table during one restaurant scene with his mom's back to him.

- The running joke of the dog humping the pillow. WTF?

- The Carrie-in-her-closet fashion show with the game show cards. Super duper DUMB.

- Some sloppy writing, like Carrie telling Samantha, "You just compared your relationship to chemo." Uh, no. She just compared being there for someone whose chemo has become all-consuming to being there for someone whose career has become all-consuming.

- The Jennifer Hudson storyline. Huh? I didn't buy JH's character for a minute. Too saccharine sweet and tacked-on. Her main purpose seemed to be to provide a reason Carrie wouldn't get her Mr. Big love letter e-mails. Which he probably had his assistant transcribe.

- The duct tape on Carrie's cell phone. Supposed to be endearing, but actually seemed affected and DUMB.

- The heavy-handed designer name-dropping and product placement. It was distracting, because it felt very "promotional consideration paid by."

- The girls' shocked reaction to Samantha's "huge" weight gain of 15 lbs. Creepy, especially having heard that SJP won't let the word "fat" be used in her home, because she feels it's cruel. And the awful moment where Samantha is cleaning out her pudding bowl like a desperate puppy before the annoyed airline attendant snatches it away from her. It was just a cartoonish way to address emotional eating.

- The lame close call of Big deciding go through with the ceremony right before Carrie pummels him with her wedding flowers in the street. Probably supposed to make us ache at how close they were to actually tying the knot. Felt wimpy and forced. Like a Three's Company misunderstanding.

- Charlotte's crisis plot point: Pooping her pants with Poughkeepsie pudding. Mkay.

So, after all those complaints, you might wonder what else there was to like. But with a 2.5 hour-ish running time, there was plenty of good stuff, too. Funny stuff. Cute stuff. It's great so many women are loving this movie and using it as an excuse to celebrate their own female friendships. Good for them.

And good for those four feisty actresses and the talented Michael Patrick King. They've given us a lot to love over the years.