I know why you’re reading this. It’s certainly not for any sort of build-up foreplay. So let’s go ahead and get to the supposedly intense breathing and wrap everything up, okay?
In the history of sexually stimulating mainstream films, “Fifty Shades of Grey” doesn’t even come close to sparking a flame, let alone overflowing with passion. Nothing can quite compare with Michael Douglas and Glenn Close grunting on the kitchen sink in “Fatal Attraction.” Marlon Brando’s inventive use of butter with Maria Schneider in “The Last Tango in Paris.” Even the dolphin fountains in “Showgirls” were hotter than what is showcased in this more restrained take of E.L. James’ S&M rendition of “Beauty and the Beast.”
Consider the deflowering scene. The one in “Ida,” Polish foreign-language Oscar contender featuring a lip-biting virgin with a 4.0 GPA, showcases a nun-in-training and a saxophonist, who is arguably the hottest type of saxophonist. The hype-escalated glossy bedroom encounter is so overhyped and dull compared to the one in “Fifty Shades.”
No matter what scene is being discussed, there's always a hint of "every erotic moment has been coordinated by a committee" vibe.
A fleeting glimpse of pubic hair here, a butt cheek there, arch that back, and thrust those hips. Take a deep breath, and one, two, three… gasp.
Could you guess, for what it’s worth, that director Sam Taylor-Johnson unless noted, is a woman? Yes, and only for the most telling, and perhaps wisest, omission. That is, like the Ken doll he resembles, Doran’s manhood is kept safely off camera apart from one barely there crotch-cam shot. In short, the only body parts permitted to be erect are Johnson’s nipples, which are so prominent they likely needed their own SAG cards.
The thinking behind this choice is probably because most of the millions of women who purchased the pop-lit phenomenon would much rather indulge themselves in the romantic fantasy of some brainy lass hoping to tame a broken man than hone in on male genitalia (especially since “Fifty Shades” is playing in a bunch of IMAX screens). Before you argue otherwise, consider 2011’s highly explicit “Shame” which still grossed under 18 million worldwide, even with a gorgeous specimen like Michael Fassbender who proudly flashed his shillelagh at every chance he got.
Nonetheless, there is one particular scene that stands out to me. When Johnson's Anastasia Steele sits on the lap of Dornan's Christian Grey, who is seated on a piano bench, it's as if De Sade and the Phantom of the Opera had a child. With all that mournful nocturnal ivory tickling, she straddles him, and he raises her shapely behind with his bent arms, lifting her effortlessly back into the boudoir.
Eventually, it is revealed that instead of courting girls, Christian prefers “dating” to charming young women like Ana, whom he recruits as submissives to surrender to his brand of discipline in the well-stocked hideaway of his high-rise home, infamously known as the Red Room of Pain. Before we get to the kink, which surprisingly doesn’t take up much of the movie’s running time, let’s touch upon what Taylor-Johnson and the other came up with, including Kelly Marcel, who penned “Saving Mr. Banks,” another story revolving around a woman haunted by a troubled man.
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Not only do I deeply miss all the bone chillingly terrible source material’s nonsensical over-the-top OMG “Holy crap!” exclamatory inserts, along with our heroine’s Jiminy Cricket-esque inner goddess. Someone realized how outlandishly unhinged the first encounters of college student Anastasia and Seattle-born entrepreneur whiz Christian are and decided to weave in humor of double entendre with overpowering tension.
When Ana's roommate gets sick, she steps in to conduct an interview as a last-minute replacement for her reporter friend. This sparks a cat-and-mouse chase between her and the elusive businessman. He comes to her place of work, a charming hardware store, to 'covertly' purchase cable ties and masking tape. He also rescues drunken Ana from her too-friendly male friend and allows her to recover in his hotel room. From there, the game begins, and it doesn’t take long until she loses her virginity.
The movie would not be complete without the many references sure to baffled casual viewers, but will bring joy to those well-acquainted with the franchise. We hear the iconic catchphrase “Laters, baby!” The “Charlie Tango” helicopter balloon. Christian’s knit tie that he employs for Ana’s first bondage and later wears in public specifically to arouse her.
There are other cast members too, some of whom you may find familiar–Marcia Gay Harden as Christian’s adoptive mother, Jennifer Ehle (most famous as Elizabeth Bennet from the BBC mini series adaptation of “Pride & Prejudice”) as Ana’s mom. But this is mainly a two-hander, which reaches an enjoyable summit during the famous contract negotiation scene where Ana seemingly complies with Christian’s terms of a submissive engagement but strikes out many rules through her own discontentment.
As they say, not even all the architectural beauty in the world will make up for a lackluster plot — something Taylor-Johnson is especially fond of in blunt tower-like buildings adorned in lights at sunset next to a clouded skyline. Shuttered windows, riding crops, and whips are all present, yet do little to raise the temperature.
It seems like Ana doesn’t find punishment as a fetish to be particularly appealing. Nevertheless, if anyone is tormented by “Fifty Shades”–and it has indeed been tormented rather brutally–it’s the audience. With eyes shut, the screen goes black and the clusters of unresolved tension are left needing to be released. I certainly wouldn’t judge those who exclaimed, hands on their heads, in disappointment when they realize the sheer torture of waiting for the sequel to get some form of enjoyment.