Fifty Shades of Grey
Don't Go! Genuinely hilarious! But for all the wrong reasons.
Fifty shades of [insert insult].
Like receiving a stiff paddle to the bum while blindfolded, Fifty Shades of Grey requires no introduction. Even if you haven't read the book, if you have sat on any kind of public transport over the past two years you'll almost certainly have confronted it: the dusky looking paperback, invariably with a wide-eyed, middle-aged lady sitting behind it; her right-hand quivering fervently and loins invisibly ablaze as she anxiously turns the page. I'm told that the fire-starting comes from all the sauce in the book, lathered on the reader in leathery loads with its BDSM storyline (bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism). After selling over 100 million copies and causing a spike in UK births, the Shady Fifty phenomenon has now climaxed, with the live action version hoping to be the biggest release (ahem) of the year.
As with all borderline soft-pornography, the storyline is practically Shakespearian. Wealthy 27 year old entrepreneur, Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan, Marie Antoinette), meets super-ordinary, 21-year old, virginal English lit student, Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson, 21 Jump Street) then gradually crow-bars himself into her life by following her around town, buying her expensive things and turning up uninvited when she's, for example, having lunch with her mother in another US state. Kind of like a handsome, well-dressed stalker. He then romantically asks her to sign a couple of contracts to a) make her his "submissive" (which seems to mean that he can slap her around a bit when he’s horny) and b) put her under strict confidentiality provisions, which means she can’t ever tell anyone that he is slapping her around a bit when he’s horny. They discuss the contract for several weeks and although she doesn't sign it she lets him slap her around a bit anyway. They take their clothes off a lot, get busy, whine at each other and fall in love or whatever.
As with all borderline soft-pornography, the storyline is practically Shakespearian. Wealthy 27 year old entrepreneur, Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan, Marie Antoinette), meets super-ordinary, 21-year old, virginal English lit student, Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson, 21 Jump Street) then gradually crow-bars himself into her life by following her around town, buying her expensive things and turning up uninvited when she's, for example, having lunch with her mother in another US state. Kind of like a handsome, well-dressed stalker. He then romantically asks her to sign a couple of contracts to a) make her his "submissive" (which seems to mean that he can slap her around a bit when he’s horny) and b) put her under strict confidentiality provisions, which means she can’t ever tell anyone that he is slapping her around a bit when he’s horny. They discuss the contract for several weeks and although she doesn't sign it she lets him slap her around a bit anyway. They take their clothes off a lot, get busy, whine at each other and fall in love or whatever.
As much as the story is dull and nonsensical, there is a simplicity to it that allows the horrible awkwardness of the characters' relationship to shine through quite magnificently. You will watch through your fingers, as we are gifted a human version of Titanic - we always knew that the ship would eventually hit the iceberg, and no matter how much trite, doe-eyed, weepy, skittish and exasperated naivety Anastasia tries to save herself with; no matter what she does, we all know that eventually, she’s going to get a spanking.
But when it finally arrives (unlike any orgasms; poor Anastasia), we get about as much eroticism as a flaccid, pickled gherkin resting in a shallow puddle of stale yellowing mayonnaise. No matter how many times Mr Grey removes Anastasia’s clothes (which is a lot); takes his t-shirt off with one hand; indulges us in shirtless post-coital piano playing (“everything you play is so sad”); or seductively delivers "beyond-romantic" lines such as “let’s get one thing straight, I don’t make love, I f***” (shudder), there is very little sexiness in this film. Rather than the gushing geyser of dark carnal desire that all the quivering on the underground had led me to expect, Shady Fifty is much more like a long drawn out sweaty contract negotiation, interrupted only when the characters very weirdly decide to take various modes of ground and air transport.
But when it finally arrives (unlike any orgasms; poor Anastasia), we get about as much eroticism as a flaccid, pickled gherkin resting in a shallow puddle of stale yellowing mayonnaise. No matter how many times Mr Grey removes Anastasia’s clothes (which is a lot); takes his t-shirt off with one hand; indulges us in shirtless post-coital piano playing (“everything you play is so sad”); or seductively delivers "beyond-romantic" lines such as “let’s get one thing straight, I don’t make love, I f***” (shudder), there is very little sexiness in this film. Rather than the gushing geyser of dark carnal desire that all the quivering on the underground had led me to expect, Shady Fifty is much more like a long drawn out sweaty contract negotiation, interrupted only when the characters very weirdly decide to take various modes of ground and air transport.
Nevertheless, like watching a b-movie thriller, there is something about the atrocious standards of dialogue and nauseating storyline that somehow makes the film bewilderingly enjoyable. In this respect, Fifty Shades is the Snakes on a Plane of erotica (i.e. Plain, Without Snakes – unlucky ladies) – a film so achingly predictable and ridiculous, that – leaving to one side the highly questionable portrayal of what seems like an unquestionably abusive relationship, poorly dressed up in granny-pants as being somehow empoweringly feministic – it was arguably the funniest film I have seen for a very long time. Even though I will forever resent myself for giving even a penny, or a prolonged thought to this trashy behemoth of pure marketing, I will resent myself more for somehow subversively enjoying this neutered and desolate film.
So go or don’t go? It is kind of tricky, but overall, do not touch this film with a lubricated barge pole. UNTIL, that is, it arrives on terrestrial TV and you can watch it for free and laugh yourself silly at how crooked our world is that this is even a thing. Far too much time, conversation and hard-earned cash ($415,000,000 worldwide after less than 2 weeks) has already been inelegantly humped in its direction. I realise that by writing this review, I'm not helping to stop this, but after reading the next three words, you still can.
So go or don’t go? It is kind of tricky, but overall, do not touch this film with a lubricated barge pole. UNTIL, that is, it arrives on terrestrial TV and you can watch it for free and laugh yourself silly at how crooked our world is that this is even a thing. Far too much time, conversation and hard-earned cash ($415,000,000 worldwide after less than 2 weeks) has already been inelegantly humped in its direction. I realise that by writing this review, I'm not helping to stop this, but after reading the next three words, you still can.
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