Reviews provided by RottenTomatoes
I enjoyed these characters more when they were rich, rather than obscenely rich, when their self-involvement and life crises had one foot on planet Earth -- and when they weren't all gussied up like Mae West in Sextette.
In the end it's the fun movie it's supposed to be. Raise your cosmos in a modest toast.
Some of these people make my skin crawl. The characters of Sex and the City 2 are flyweight bubbleheads living in a world which rarely requires three sentences in a row.
New York Times:
The ugly smell of unexamined privilege hangs over this film like the smoke from cheap incense.
New York Magazine/Vulture:
The most depressing thing about Sex and the City 2 is that it seems to justify every nasty thing said and written about the series and first feature film.
This is a sequel that doesn't come close to justifying its existence.
The movie completely unravels into a pastiche of wish-fulfillment, slapstick, and ham-handed social commentary.
Twelve years, one beloved HBO series, and two feature films on, the Sex and the City gals have been reduced to Bratz dolls for grown women.
Thanks to writer-director Michael Patrick King, I now have a fair idea how it might feel to be stoned to death with scented candles.
Dallas Morning News:
Like a plastic surgeon, storyteller King keeps trying to find new ways to lift and tighten his characters, but they have become garish caricatures of themselves.
As Carrie might type on her laptop while giving one of her girly little shrugs, When did Sex and the City become so long and mean so little?
There's so much glossy sheen to the work that it's easy to forgive the contrived "issues" that must be faced for character growth.
Los Angeles Times:
In this second screen incarnation of the fabulous HBO series, the satire is sagging, the irony's atrophied and the funny is flabby.
Sarah Jessica Parker is now 45 years old, and, frankly, I cannot stomach another moment of the simpering, mincing, hair-tossing, eyelash-batting little-girl shtick she's been pulling ever since L.A. Story.
Even director Michael Patrick King, known for his sense of excess, seems to recognize that we've been down this road before, and we know where it ends.
Remember the old, boundary-breaking, taboo-toppling Sex and the City? Forget it. Neither sex nor the city plays any role in this film.
New York Daily News:
Though the sequel is a welcome return of the four women we know and love, it's tough not to acknowledge that if we were all friends in real life, at this point we'd probably stop taking their calls.
New York Post:
As tasteless as an Arabian cathouse, as worn-out as your 1998 flip-flops and as hideous as the mom jeans Carrie wears with a belly-baring gingham top, Sex and the City 2 is two of the worst movies of the year.
New York Observer:
The only thing memorable about Sex and the City 2 is the number two part, which describes it totally, if you get my drift.
It's slower and more of an eye-roller than the first film, but also a lot more about the women.
Sex and the City 2 is a champagne cocktail on a runaway train -- fizzy, sparkly, giddy-making, and splashing all over the place.
It has no plot to speak of, little in the way of wit or intelligence, and is about 50% longer than can reasonably be justified.
Bad puns, fashion porn, domestic handwringing, contrived plot points, idiotic dialogue and offensive stereotypes. What's not to loathe?
At two and a half hours, Sex 2 -- like its predecessor -- is a long sit in the shallows, the equivalent of five half-hour episodes strung together.
When Carrie asks Big, "Am I just a bitch wife who nags you?" I could hear all the straight men in the theater -- all four of us -- being physically prevented from responding.
San Francisco Chronicle:
The moment of dread. It comes for all beloved series, and in Sex and the City 2, it arrives with embarrassing suddenness.
The stakes are so low that, during the girls' final madcap sprint through an outdoor market disguised in burqas, the unspeakable outcome they're trying to forestall is the possibility of having to fly home in coach.
St. Louis Post-Dispatch:
If you're already sick of the hype and wondering whether a second Sex and the City movie was really necessary, here's a surprising answer: Yes, in fact, it was.
Globe and Mail:
It's worse than Sex and the City 1, and that alone is a remarkable achievement.
King and his cast seem content to put everything on autopilot and hope glamour and shopping sprees will be enough to carry them. Nothing much happens -- and it takes 2.5 hours for it not to happen in.
An insult to the memory of the cleverly written show and its celebration of friendship, it's a slap in the face for the four gal pals (often photographed at unflattering angles) and an affront to Muslims.
Sarah Jessica Parker is now 45 years old, and, frankly, I cannot stomach another moment of the simpering, mincing, hair-tossing, eyelash-batting little-girl shtick she's been pulling ever since she emerged...
It's self-indulgent, way too long and never as clever or funny as it's intended to be.
An enervated, crass and gruesomely caricatured trip to nowhere [that] seems conceived primarily to find new and more cynical ways to abuse the loyalty of its audience.