This column contains spoilers for the film version of Fifty Shades of Grey.
BedPost went on the road this weekend to join the zeitgeist in seeing Fifty Shades of Grey, which I feel confident in calling the Citizen Kane of porn.
By the simplest definition of a movie review, I would argue Fifty Shades passes with flying colors. I highly recommend you go see this movie.
The adaptation of E. L. James’ salacious tome is a blast to watch, but it also kind of sucks. It’s a bad movie. But it’s also kind of great. Remember Teeth? How about The Room? It’s maybe not quite at those movies’ levels of terrible, but you’re working with the same basic idea.
For a movie that’s all about terrifying, boundary-breaking sex, there wasn’t much sex in it. Not even the regular kind without the horse-racing implements and ceiling harnesses. The actors do a whole lot of talking, and they’re not particularly good at it.
However, with how mind-numbing the dialogue and contract-reviewing was, the lack of thespian prowess was more than welcome – it was the only way the garbage they were half-assedly dribbling out of their mouths actually had any entertainment value.
I anticipated having a bunch of interesting and bizarre sex scenes to discuss after the movie, but they barely did anything I’d feel uncomfortable with. He spanks her with a belt a few times and blindfolds her once.
So, instead, I can only tell you to go see this movie for the bafflingly subpar acting and breadth of completely unbelievable events, none of them sexual. (That pencil was not sharpened in Grey’s office, but then she wrote with it. Also, who even has pencils any more?)
Fifty Shades of Grey is a bad movie, and you should see it. I was not the only person in the theater laughing.
Ian Ording is a senior studying journalism and copy chief of The Post.
This is your classic tale of a college graduate who has yet to dive into the vast and intimate world of butt plugs. That’s about as deep as Fifty Shades of Grey — all two hours of it — got.
Our young heroine, Anastasia Steele (with a name like that, you’d think she’d be more than a wooden Anthropologie mannequin) is an English literature student and virgin with an abnormally nice apartment. That is, of course, until her unethical student journalist-roommate Kate informs her she’s sick and can’t make her interview she’s spent six months scheduling with the young billionaire that will be giving their commencement speech in a few weeks. Because Anastasia is nice, and also unethical, she agrees to drive hundreds of miles to Seattle to meet the mysterious billionaire Christian Grey.
Minutes later (she’s a fast driver) she’s in front of the movie’s first overwhelming phallic symbol — a large, shiny grey cylinder of a building with the word “grey” stamped on it. Inside, there’s an emotionally unavailable piece of man candy waiting for her. Their interview takes only a few minutes, but establishes the overwhelming theme of the film anyway: These two people have no chemistry, but you’re going to watch them have sex a few times.
The next day, Christian appears in the hardware store where Anastasia works in his first effort to reenact American Psycho. He’s hundreds of miles away from his penthouse because he has to buy some zip ties, rope and duct tape. He’s either kinky or a serial killer. Ana’s way-hotter co-worker Paul steps in to intervene with this sexy one-liner: “Want me to bag that for you, Ana?” She’s intensely frustrated with all this male attention and shoos him away. Christian looks like he wants to wear Paul’s face as a hat. You now get to know Christian’s “dark” side — he’s horrifyingly protective and effectively a stalker. Romance! Excitement!
For the next 90 minutes, Ana will grapple with whether she wants to be this man-childs sex slave. She’ll discover he’s tracking her phone, that his driver knows her clothing measurements and that he employs a contract with every sexual relationship he enters. That contract tells Ana she can only eat from a list of prescribed foods and that she’ll have to dress in a manner that pleases him. To sweeten the deal, Christian buys her an Audi and a Macbook Pro, which she uses to email him about how terrifying he is. Right on. Then she moves to Seattle. Not right on. Additionally, she discovers that the most furnished room in his penthouse is, in fact, his “playroom.” (No, Ana, it’s not where he keeps his Xbox.) It’s full of all kinds of medieval torture what’s-its, chains and whips. This is how Christian does “love.” He’ll continue to tell her that this “pleases” him, though he despises relationships, sleeping in the same bed as a woman, and human contact. OK, bro, OK. He’ll also take her virginity, sleep in the same bed with her and call her his girlfriend. Then, to settle the score, he’ll beat her viciously to correct any confusion he’s caused her. By the end of the movie, most are uncomfortable, pissed or laughing. We went to Taco Bell.
Emma Ockerman is a sophomore studying journalism and local editor of The Post.
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