More Cringing than Lip Biting for ‘Fifty Shades’

Universal Pictures

As a favor for her roommate, English lit. major Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) conducts an interview with 27-year-old business tycoon Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan). Oops. She trips in his dashing presence. Making matters even more uncomfortable, she stammers through each question haphazardly scribbled on paper. A subtext emerges.

Does Ms. Steele even realize she’s nibbling on the pencil Mr. Grey loaned her? Is Mr. Grey thinking all kinds of shady things about the brunette attached to that pencil?

The opening seen comes to a climax when our leading lady exits the building, welcomed by some Seattle rain, as if God provided her the cold shower she desperately needed. Not even 10 minutes in, and “Fifty Shades of Grey” is already funnier than most Adam Sandler flicks. Well done, softcore porn. Well done.

To be fair though, “Fifty Shades” isn’t softcore anything. How can a film so tame France found it suitable for 12 years olds evoke such outrage? It promotes domestic abuse. It inaccurately depicts BDSM. It’s just “Twilight” fan fiction. OMG, that’s not my Christian.

LOL, #NotMyChristian never gets old. 😂😂😂 #LastWeekTonight

— Casey (@boydcrowders) March 28, 2016

Have you ever wanted to see a film just to hate it? This should’ve been that film. But it’s not. It’s not bad enough to hate. It’s not good enough to linger upon during a candlelit bubble bath.

The initial promotion was incredible: an edgy trailer complete with a killer rendition of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love”. Who is this man of mystery, Christian Grey, and what bizarre sexual world will he introduce young virgin Anastasia to? But the tantalizing premise falls flat almost immediately. Never has sex looked so mundane, procedural.



For you prudes (or rational adults) who know nothing of E.L. James’ bestselling “Fifty Shades” trilogy, here’s the skinny. A naive college student meets a dashing but emotionally distraught rich dude with a secret: He’s all about the whips, gags and pretty much anything you chuckle at when you walk by Spencer’s. He’s a “dominant,” and he wants Ms. Steele to be his “submissive” –– his words.

But Annie really just wants love, not a creeper who makes her sign a nondisclosure agreement about their relationship and won’t let her drink a few too many. She initially expresses concern. Wait for it. With the gravitas of Lady Gaga, he almost near declares, “I was born this way.” This is who he is, and Anastasia is either in or out.

In that moment, a thousand therapists rolled their eyes.

After Christian’s alluring reveal and 40 sexless minutes of screen time, we enter the next plot device: the signing of the dominant/submissive contract, a list of the dos and don’ts of doing it in Christian’s “playroom.” No, not a man cave. Don’t worry, Anastasia is confused too.“Like, your Xbox and stuff?” she inquires. Poetry I tell you. Poetry.

There’s a bit more sex mostly in the Playroom with all Christian’s clearly never-been-used sex toys, and a lot more contract talk, but it all feels like a set up for a franchise. I can only hope they find some shameless way to split the third book into two films. Give it the ol’ young-adult-novel-adaption treatment.

I loath reality television. It rots your soul in ways once reserved for informercials. But I get the appeal: Who doesn’t wanna watch a train wreck? That’s “Fifty Shades of Grey” –– so much effort put into trash. Dakota Johnson is a splendid actor, but she’s so much more engaging in previous comedy roles. Even Irish breakout star Jamie Dornan, who tragically attempts an American accent, was enjoyable in the first season of ABC’s “Once Upon a Time”. Here, the pair are just uncomfortably reminiscent of Depp and Jolie in “The Tourist”.

It’s also hard to believe the directing by Sam Taylor-Johnson (“Nowhere Boy”) or screenwriting by Kelly Marcel, who brilliantly co-wrote “Saving Mr. Banks”, combine to create such a limp production. I don’t buy it. We only have one culprit left: the novelist herself. This wreaks of the same stank all over those sparkling vamps. Just as Stephanie Meyers’ creative control over “Twilight” likely ruined what could’ve been at least enjoyable films, E.L. James probably stuck her nose in a medium she doesn’t understand.

Or perhaps Universal Pictures didn’t wanna poke the MPAA bear because this is clearly watered down NC-17 material. At this rate, I’m not sure who’s to blame for all the mediocrity. What I do know is rather simple. Any scandal surrounding this film is far more interesting than the film itself.