Last night I got to screen the new Sex and the City movie, which has been hotly anticipated for years by fans of the TV show, which was one of the first of the HBO series to strike gold and kick off the golden age that also brought us The Sopranos, Deadwood , Six Feet Under, and so on. You can read my Sermon on the Mount 600-word review of the film, which will through the magic of newspapering be hitting the streets today (synopsis: it’s like the show, but bigger, with more wardrobe changes, higher-ticket product placements, bigger boy problems, and all the characters are like 10 times as rich as they were on TV, and the clothes were just okay. Things I didn’t get into: Jennifer Hudson as SJP’s personal assistant, fat jokes and SJP gagging on the line, “You’d be gorgeous at any size”).

I didn’t quite realize how hotly anticipated the movie was until I got to the theater only to be subjected to something like an hour and a half’s worth of pink carpet footage from the New York premier before the movie even screened, which mostly made me appreciate the editors who go to work on this type of footage before it usually hits the screen. (It’s not that glamorous seeing the beautiful people pose stiffly for the cameras, repeatedly doing cheesy stuff like blowing kisses and kicking up a heel. Still it had its highlights, like the show’s costume designer, Patricia Field:

I'm not saying she was drunk, but I've seen drunk, I've been drunk, and she sure seemed drunk to me, as well as the least self conscious and most fun, shouting "Oscar de la Renta!" wantonly while swaying into the red pink carpet host. Another odd moment was when Chris Noth (I mean, Big), who couldn't stop calling the host "baby," answered his question about whether Sex or Indiana Jones was going to make more money by saying that beauty trumps age, even though part of the point is that these beauties are, well, aged.

And the grossest moment of the night was watching the Trumps pose for photos. Unbelievably they were normal-ish at first, but both started squinting like that just for the sake of the cameras (?), with Donald hunching over like a glowering troll. Maybe he never bothered to try it in the mirror first.

But the real star of the night for me were these Christian Dior shoes that Carrie kept showing up in:

$790. And there's a waiting list.