I couldn’t help but wonder: Could Sex and the City 2 be as bad as all the critics say? The reviews aren’t just bad; they’re downright angry and hateful. Although the movie fails to live up to the wit and panache of the HBO series and will likely disappoint longtime devotees, it’s hardly the death knell of feminism that critics paint it to be. That was Ally McBeal, remember?

To be fair, the movie isn’t very good. It actually makes the first film look amazing in comparison, and that one couldn’t quite deliver on the sometimes brilliant heights of the series. I criticized the final season of SatC for packing too much plot into 30-minute episodes. Take the episode “The Catch” in which Charlotte marries Harry and like 300 other things happen. Somehow, the two-and-a-half hour Sex and the City 2 has less plot in it.

Virtually nothing happens. Carrie is bored with Big, so the girls go to Abu Dhabi to hang with Nermal, and wacky hijinks ensue. As long as your definition of hijinks is borderline offensive anti-Muslim sentiment and dimestore Camille Paglia feminism. It’s a hard day’s Arabian night, replacing the Fab Four with the Whoresome Foursome.

What’s frustrating is that the movie touches on some very interesting ideas but never really fleshes them out. Carrie is struggling to adapt marriage to her lifestyle, one that doesn’t include kids. Charlotte is once again dealing with the fact that getting what you think you want doesn’t always lead to happiness. Miranda comes to a crossroads with her career versus her family. And Samantha is, at this point, a straight-up-now-tell-me drag queen. Any depth her character possessed, which had grown quite substantial, is completely eradicated with a hookah blowjob. Seriously, she’s 52. The characters have largely devolved into caricature.

Writer/director Michael Patrick King—who was the heart and soul of the series—no longer seems to know what we want from our Sex, replacing strong character moments with spectacle. As any of these ladies could tell you, bigger isn’t always better. Large amounts of time are spent fawning over lavish Middle Eastern decadence, when the best scene in the movie is when Charlotte and Miranda are commiserating over the difficulties of motherhood over drinks. It’s funny, touching and honest, which was always the best part of the series. And it’s something the rest of the film is sorely lacking.

If there is a third Sex and the City film—and at this point, even diehard fans should be skeptical—let’s hope MPK and SJP figure out that what fans really want is substance over style. We don’t want vintage Valentino, Char; we want vintage Sex and the City.