Sex and the City 3? Oh please say it isn't true — it would be cinematic apocalypse

When the series first aired it was revolutionary. Now, it is intolerable

Jennifer Hudson has suggested that a third film instalment of Sex and the City could be on its way. "I think it might be happening," she said, during an interview with Dish Nation. How I desperately hope this isn't true - it would be a cinematic apocalypse.

The reasons for making the series a trilogy is obvious from a Hollywood perspective - the film world has a tendency to drain everything popular within an inch of its life until no one can really remember why they liked it in the first place. Books are subjected to this treatment constantly; The Book Thief, The Great Gatsby and Anna Karenina were all much-loved pieces of literature before filmmakers saw potential for money and watered them down for a different audience. Who cares about the agonising hopelessness of Jay Gatsby as written by F Scott Fitzgerald when Baz Luhrmann can create an awe-inspiring decadent party with fireworks?

While I'm not comparing Sex and the City to F Scott Fitzgerald, it too has become victim of its own success, losing exactly what made it so important to begin with.

When SATC first aired in 1998, it was revolutionary. It was the first popular television show to feature women talking to their friends about what was honestly going on in their lives. Sure, they led more glamorous lives than most, but they were open about their securities and they valued their friendships. The dialogue was funny and quick-witted, and the stories entertaining. And they all had sex a lot; being single was perceived as being just as fun as being in a relationship.

There were always flaws in the series, but these were less obvious when viewed in 20-minute slots. The four protagonists, Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha, were always exaggerated versions of anyone you really knew, but they were likeable and funny because you had them in short bursts. Carrie was a bit whiny, but seen through the parameters of a two-hour-long film, she's the kind of a woman you'd happily set fire to. After spending her life chasing the emotionally unavailable Mr Big, and following much badgering, she finally marries him, but then spends the sequel moaning about how little he loves her because he only bought her a large-screen television as a present.

Miranda goes from being career-driven and intelligent to stiff and uptight and Charlotte becomes a terrifying Stepford housewife. Then there's Samantha, a character formerly loved for her uncompromising confidence and sexual liberalism. In the sequel's armageddon of a finale she half strips and throws condoms at the feet of Abu Dhabi women in the middle of a market place screaming "I am a woman! I have sex." They are nearly stoned to death and rescued by some kindly women in burkas, who eventually unpeel their clothes to show they too are wearing designer items. And at last the world makes sense again.

The materialism and the superficiality which made the series fun and light is intolerable when presented with two hours of it. when frivolous, thin story lines are painfully dragged out and the characters become parodies of the worst kind.

As characters, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte have nothing more to offer. It’s hard to imagine what writers will devise for SATC3 – probably more children, maybe one will move somewhere exotic. None of it will be interesting because each and every one of those women is empty. The bottom of the barrel has already been reached.