Not long ago you might remember the overnight popularity of the novel Fifty Shades of Grey. It was like the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue for women, only a tad more graphic and with less depth. Guess what? Now there’s a bad film to go with it!
If I’ve learned anything in the past few years of movie going, it’s that billionaires have a lot of free time. I can’t wait until I’m one so that I can spend countless hours stalking coeds and drawing up elaborate sex contracts. Sounds very, y’know? Until that time, enjoy the sad tale of awkward plain-Jane collegian Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) falling for hunky socially–retarded billionaire Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan).
First off? I think the guy would have to be both hunky and filthy rich to pull his crap. Grey is entirely humorless, hysterically possessive and understands personal relationships only in terms of master and servant. Personally, I think he’s dull as dirt, but then I didn’t find the neophytic Ms. Steele any prize herself.
The meet-cute is anything but. Anastasia has to fill in for a sick friend scheduled to interview the 27-year-old corporate mogul. Everything is wrong about this interview. Everything. Start with the fact that Ms. Steele has decided to meet a reclusive billionaire dressed as a substitute teacher on laundry day. Then after literally falling on her face and having several awkward conversational pauses, she discovers she hasn’t brought a writing implement – to an interview. Mr. Grey offers her one of the eraser-less grease pencils from his desk. Gonna do some light sketching after that corporate buyout later, Christian? Although nobody else is into it, including the director, Christian is quite clearly turned on by the idea that Anastasia has no idea what she’s doing. That’s his thing, one would guess.
Shortly thereafter, Anastasia drunk dials him and, oh my, does Christian act. Unperturbed by her social awkwardness, general frumpiness or the fact that Anastasia is employed as a clerk in a local hardware store, Christian races to save and lecture her about the evils of public insobriety. If I didn’t hate the film yet, here was my golden opportunity. And this moment sets the stage for THE CONTRACT.
Don’t let anybody else tell you what Fifty Shades of Grey is about. It’s about a sex contract. Miles of film are devoted to clothed Christian pressuring clothed Anastasia to enter into explicit written agreement regarding their conjoined sexual future. You see, Christian is into some “deviant” stuff – and he has no idea what constitutes a genuine relationship. For one thing, the contract states Anastasia will stay with him only on weekends and in a separate bedroom. She also has to agree to a wardrobe clause, a behavior clause, a sobriety clause and she gets to call him “Mr. Grey” or “The Master.” What does she get out of the deal? “You get me,” Christian states confidently. Well, not really, of course. Wife? Girlfriend? Relationship? These are, dare I say, grey areas. Christian doesn’t understand that. He understands sex.
Well … let me clarify. He understands some sex. Abusive, one-dimensional, indulgent sex. Look, I don’t wish to ridicule the practice itself – I believe there are many varieties of healthy sexual relationships that include toys and potential weapons. I don’t think this is one of them. And it’s not because of the ropes, nor the whips, nor the cuffs, nor the positions, nor the practices; all of those can be fine given the right set of circumstances. It’s all about a man who is too immature to enter into an adult relationship without specific understanding that he is “the master” and she is a sex slave. I don’t mean to say this can’t work for other folks, but here it really comes off as offensive.
And the more “bondage” is mentioned, the more I picture Charlton Heston demanding, “let my people go!” That’s a mental image you don’t need when Dakota is introduced to Johnson.
When Anastasia balks, the cry is, “open your mind.” Gee, sure, pal. The very second I get a contract to whip you, too. There’s a strong undercurrent throughout Fifty Shades on the allure of slavery. “Go ahead, Anastasia, do it … look at what you get when you give up free will …” And here’s the bigger picture, of co
urse, where I cringe from the realization that Fifty Shades is suddenly speaking for all relationships: “come off it,” Shades argues, “is there not a component of sexual slavery in all marriage?” The fact that Anastasia maintains the illusion of thinking and acting for herself keeps this film off the permanent shit list; I give no such exoneration to the inevitable sequel.
And there’s your movie … two dull people fighting over potentially exciting sex. I have no doubt this material resonates with the occasional woman wanting to give herself to a moment. Who wants to be a control freak forever? But this is one weak fantasy – even the pervs are gonna have an issue or two; Fifty Shades does not actually have anything truly hard core. You’ll get more intense action from just about any five-minute segment of Nymphomaniac. I couldn’t tell until the final five minutes if Fifty Shades actually cared about either lead. May as well be watching porn at that rate.
Perv corner: there’s plenty of naked Dakota Johnson in Fifty Shades. You can do a lot worse, to be sure. There is also, however, not a single full-frontal nude shot, male or female, in this film. Judging by screenshots, it’s possible Jamie Dornan doesn’t have a penis. Were this my sexual fantasy, I’d find that part especially disturbing. Bondage-wise, this feels like a beginner’s guide. There is much rope. Much tying, almost all of it to wrists. Many knots. Many … docking stations. I’m guessing Dornan worked as a longshoreman to brush up for this role. There is some hitting. Not much. The most intense of it is decidedly tame – six hard shots of riding crop to bare ass. No shot of ass before or after, which means that the scene must be sold entirely by the actress. Good luck with that.
Want more to your S&M than tied hands, a blindfold and an ass slap? Get in line.
Section III, article seven, whereas
Finds Grey’s obsession with Ms. Steel’s ass
Promised sex wild
But commitment mild
It seems billions still can’t buy one class
Rated R, 125 Minutes
D: Sam Taylor-Johnson
W: Kelly Marcel
Genre: Immature sex fantasy
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Very, very lonely and very, very abused housewives
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: People who understand equal partnerships
