Our new local cinema, despite only being approachable via a seedy wee-smelling back alley which has pubs at either end, is actually pretty good. Last week I saw the new Indiana Jones film at it - despite being in his 60s, Harrison Ford still looks pretty good. Along with Joanna Lumley and Joan Bakewell, he is my model for ageing well.
My fella hates Sex in the City. When it used to be shown on tv, he would keep up a steady stream of criticism, mostly directed at Carrie, the main character who is a kind of distillation of the sort of urban, contemporary person that he hates - obsessed with shoes and labels, terminally self-absorbed, unable to sort out her lovelife, smoking, hatefully confident, although terrified of small animals (there's one episode where she sceams because she sees a squirrel). His unkind nickname for her is "horseface". The other three didn't really get much of a look-in, although I suspect he secretly likes Samantha (what gay man doesn't?).
I agree that all the shoes and labels and clothes stuff leaves me cold. Elizabeth Bennett (were she alive now) wouldn't care about any of this stuff. She would probably buy everything from M&S and mend anything that got ripped. Old Elizabeth is much more a feminist heroine than Carrie, who despite having many more choices open to her, tends to get bogged down in the trivial ones (Prada or Gucci)?
So I was a bit surprised when he suggested we go and see it tonight. But I think it's because he loves to hate it. If we go, he will be harrumphing through it next to me for a whole 2 hours. I suspect he will enjoy the experience more than me.