There's a moment in the new "Sex and the City" movie, The Post has learned, when Carrie Bradshaw is lounging in a cliff-top Mexican villa, overlooking a breathtaking view of the ocean, with her pink Swarovski-encrusted cellphone in hand. She's checking her voice mail.
It's from Big, who, as many know by now, actually has a name: John James Preston.
"Babe," he says affectionately, before saying he needs to talk to her urgently.
In a moment of pure impulsiveness, Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) throws her phone off the cliff. It goes sailing through the air, with the sun sparkling off the crystals as it falls into the ocean.
It's ludicrous. It's exciting. It's over-the-top.
And it's achieving what many in the film industry believed impossible just a few years ago: building a cinematic fantasy that's bigger than Big.
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