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Remember when everybody was talking about the book Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James? Do you also remember the equally terrible movie adaptation on Valentine’s Day weekend in 2015? The story of Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) and her sadomasochistic relationship with young businessman Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) has been the most entertainingly awful piece of literature and a subject of parody in the first half of the 2010 decade. What made the novel so infamous were the exaggerated sex scenes and the laughable internal monologue. The movie however, trims those elements down in favor of a conventional romantic drama instead of raising the bar with James’s text. Don’t get me wrong, Fifty Shades of Grey isn’t without saucy moments, but there are so few drips to squeeze and they get bogged down by scenes of Mr. Grey gawking Anastasia with materialism, stalking her at dinner parties, or sending creepy text messages. Christian has an entire collection of whips, butt plugs, and other BDSM sex toys, yet he never takes advantage of them in the movie. With the funny narration being replaced by generic pop songs, the film also loses its charisma and never explores Annie’s lustful desires. I’m not asking for this movie to be ultra-pornographic, but I expected more steamy activity than just hard spanking and rubbing ice on the nipples. Despite Sam Taylor-Johnson’s effort to better the book’s prose, the result of Fifty Shades of Grey is extremely mild and not the least bit titillating.
(1 ½ Exploding Inner Goddesses out of 5)
