Now that the glittery hoopla over "Sex and the City" has subsided, it was time for me, a 40-plus woman, to see the film.

A longtime gal pal and I finally caught it last week. Both of us were not diehard fans of the HBO series but familiar enough to know about the four main female characters and some generalities about the TV story. (I also couldn't help but notice that there were only four men in our theater audience, out of about 30 people, and that the guy closest to me was letting out some heavy "when is this going to be over" sighs about 90 minutes in.)

I had read some of the reviews, including Donald Munro's critique. Many were not complimentary, or were downright scathing, like this one from Manohla Dargis of The New York Times. (If you check rottentomatoes.com, it averaged a mediocre 51% approval rating among the nation's critics.) I sensed resentment that star Sarah Jessica Parker (aka Carrie Bradshaw) would dare revisit these characters since the series ended in 2004.

Now, having seen it, I question all the spite but understand it: This is a chick flick in the purest sense of the genre. I'm convinced only women, especially women of my age, will thoroughly enjoy it. And get it.

OK, the movie isn't a masterpiece, but it is relatable. It's about a longtime friendship among four women, who are now in their 40s and -- no longer being sweet, young things -- are soldiering on together with humor and heart, living with their baggage, mileage and choices they've made.

And, yes, there are points you can nitpick. First, there's my "Friends" syndrome complaint, which is: Why, in a story set in New York City, minority people don't seem to really exist there? The filmmakers threw in Jennifer Hudson, but that doesn't make up for a real lack of diversity.

You could also carp about the main characters' self-centeredness and pre-occupation with material goods; that the movie is too long at 150 minutes; that the writing sags and sputters in spots; and that the male characters, except for Mr. Big and Steve, don't figure strongly into the plot. And, of course, most of us don't live the Cosmo-flavored, cotourish Manolo Blahnik lifestyle of these four women. (Although we do, as my gal pal pointed out, love seeing the chic clothes and accessories.)

But I found myself empathizing with Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte. (Not to mention that it's wonderful watching actresses of my age on the big screen, instead of the constant parade of young starlets with less talent.) And I loved that their bond strengthens no matter what happens to them individually, in revelry or suffering. There is a key moment in this movie involving gut-wrenching disappointment for one of the women -- the way the other three immediately swoop in and forge a protective shield around her to ward off further harm is a sight to behold. It's a scene of which any group of close girlfriends could identify.

I suspect the film also runs darker than the TV series. In one scene, a devastated character looks into a bathroom mirror, with no makeup and in unflattering light. It's a candid, raw unmasking for a show propelled in part by glitzy facades. The film also explores the difficulties and uneasiness of forgiveness and moving on for women at the mid-point of their lives.

"Sex and the City" may not be a sublimely written movie, but it sparks an emotional response, tapping into those internal, layered niches that gal pals possess and intrinsically understand. It's not that most men can't comprehend it -- They just can't fathom the whole of it. So here's an oversimplification, but a basic tenet: You share the pain, smile at the joy, and laugh as much as possible. And that's just for starters.