50 shades of brown jeans
As a leftie feminist fond of being treated with respect in romantic relationships, it is a very predictable post I am about to write having spent the evening watching 50 Shades of Grey. However, I’ll write it anyway and add to the number of shrill but absolutely on point criticisms of the films glorification of domestic violence.
Well first off, thanks to E L James’ sneaky idea of making Ana sign a ‘contract’, the BDSM scenes in the film seemed more like a bit of campy fun and didn’t carry the undertones of sexual violence I expected them to. The sex scenes were truly nothing special or anything to write home about. To be quite honest, there would be more sexual chemistry between a small dog and its owner’s calf than Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan.
Unfortunately for Diector Sam Taylor-Johnson, the decision to include barely 15 minutes of actual intercourse in the entire film did it no favours, as instead we spend most of the movie focused in on the distressing courtship and manipulation of Anastasia by Christian outside of the bedroom. The books almost get away with their disturbing premise due to their nature of works of campy erotica, but the film’s futile mission to embed meaning and complexity in a story that began as Twilight fan fiction is where it trips over itself and gives itself away.
How about that Christian Grey, what a beacon of Mr Right-ness, dripping with threatening sexuality and so great at being the thinking woman’s crumpet?
God, wasn’t it so Cleo Bachelor of the Year when he left Anastasia cute little “Eat Me” “Drink Me” notes for the Berocca on her bedside table after she foolishly got drunk, drunk dialled him, was tracked down via Sony Cyberattack style computer smarts by him and then whisked home- unconscious and stripped naked and dressed by a man she had met on one prior occasion.
Didn’t we all just swoon when Christian was so good as to share her bed after sex and sleep next to her given his staunch rules against exposure to affection and normalcy stemming from being statutory raped as a teen?
The most disturbing part of this movie was the throbbing sighs heard in the theatre on the rare occasions Mr Grey condescended to doing something vaguely nice for his little woman.
Thankfully most males (except under duress) probably won’t be exposed to this movie, which dangerously tells us that all you need to do to be a sex symbol is stalk your girlfriend, break into her house and sell her property.
The constant shots of Christian carrying Anastasia in his arms to her room did more to show his infantilisation of her than even the obvious “Anastasia you must wear this peach coloured dress that makes you look like 4”. Weary from a long hard session of sexual domination, Ana is dropped off to her sleeping quarters by a man who could easily be a long suffering Dad whose kid has fallen asleep in front of Road to Eldorado. When she salaciously stands up to Christian, ie. expresses herself and doesn’t go along with being his doll and says “I want to go home, is that ok?” it is more like a sarcastic retort to a daggy dad. OOOO you go girl #thesass. But then you go “OH WAIT” when you realise that is a serious request because the only way of her fleeing the man she has just had a fight with is having him drive her home from this sex compound. Again we get a nice little shot of long suffering Dad Christian driving home his sleeping little girl Anastasia.
Is this supposed to be some metaphor for the sexual molestation Christian received at the hands of a superior figure? I don’t think the film is that smart.
The film is like that one extremely self deprecating friend you have who is just prone to foot in mouth syndrome. Just when you think she’s all g talking to that fly ass homie at the clerb she says something too fucked up to appear self deprecating and endearing and things get awkward for us all and we have to call in Rita Ora for backup. It could go with the campy sexy angle and give the housewives what they want, but instead it commits an act of horrendous self sabotage in its bid to look all Sundancey and classsy. The disturbing, unsettling and persuasive fetishisation of domestic violence in the novels is the thing its critic’s have most latched onto (WITH GOOD REASON) SO WHY ON EARTH MAKE THAT THE FOCAL POINT OF THE FILM?
Basically, I would have been happier if this film resembled a 90 minute long porno which is saying a lot coming from someone who could bore you to tears over a glass of cheap red intoning the unrealistic expectations it sets up for teenage boys.
Yes I am that girl at that family BBQ.