Movie Review: ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’
As proven by the buzz surrounding the most recent Spider-Man reiteration, franchise reboots are an increasingly popular way for production companies to squeeze more money out of the same recognizable storylines. Twilight has also managed to make its triumphant return on the silver screen, only this time it’s called Fifty Shades of Grey and it features both a female lead with an actual personality and at least 150% more nipple.
Of course, Fifty Shades isn’t actually part of the Twilight series — it’s just a filmed adaptation of E.L. James’ novel of the same name, which is itself a print adaptation of a Twilight fanfiction she posted online. The vampires and werewolves of the original source material have been expunged and replaced by handcuffs and BDSM-loving billionaires. Fifty Shades’ producers are banking on the assumption that the little girls who dreamed of kissing vampires have grown up and now fantasize about being spanked by boardroom executives.
The narrow thread of plot connecting the sex scenes goes as follows: college senior Anastasia Steele (newcomer Dakota Johnson) interviews taciturn billionaire Christian Grey (newcomer/underwear model Jamie Dornan) for the school paper. She falls for Christian’s intensity, and he in turn is immediately entranced by her… inability to conduct an interview professionally? He begins courting her to play the role of a submissive to his dominant. These terms, and any other words associated with BDSM sexuality, are helpfully defined by Christian for the edification of virginal Ana and, of course, the audience.
When they’re not having kinky sex, they’re talking about having kinky sex — more specifically, Christian is trying to convince Ana to sign a contract designating herself as his on-call submissive. The contract delineates everything from forbidden sex acts (anal fisting gets a hard pass from Ana, to Christian’s chagrin) to behavioral restrictions: if she signs the contract, Ana must eat from a prescribed list of foods, avoid drinking to excess, and take oral contraception provided by a doctor of his choosing.
Ana understandably sees these confining rules as a problem, and she makes it clear to Christian that she values her independence and can’t imagine signing her freedom away. But what Ana and moviegoers alike seem not to understand is that Ana has already lost her freedom — she loses it fifteen minutes into the movie, when Christian tracks her cell phone in order to pick her (very drunk self) up from a bar and take her back to his hotel room to sleep. Anti-domestic violence advocates have been voicing their objections to this film since its production was announced, but their arguments bear repeating here: Christian and Ana have an abusive relationship, and not because they have rough sex. He screams to her that she is his and that she belongs to him. He finds out where she works and shows up, having only met her once. After she initially rejects his contract, Christian surprises her in her own apartment and ‘reminds’ her of the sex she will be missing out on. But don’t worry, it’s actually romantic — he brought wine for this little home invasion! These grim reminders of a darker side to the relationship unmoor Fifty Shades from its position as pure, campy fun. Camp certainly makes an appearance — when Ana biting her lip receives a super-detailed close-up, or Christian buys her a first-edition Tess of the D’Urbervilles after meeting her once — but Christian’s abusive behavior gave me tonal whiplash.
It’s a testament to Dakota Johnson’s acting skills that she’s able to convince the viewer of Ana’s love for Christian in spite of these red flags. She takes a one-dimensional, unbuttered toast female lead and gives her wit, intelligence, and charm. In what is by far the best scene of the film, Ana insists on holding a formal business meeting with Christian in his office to discuss the terms of their sexual contract, proving to us that Ms. Johnson can slip from curious naïve intern to dominant boardroom babe in the ten seconds it takes to zip on a skintight plum power dress. The scene also marks the sole instance of character development in the film: while Ana used to stutter over the word “sex,” now she drops references to butt plugs and handcuffs with nothing more than an amused quirk of her brow. Ana is vivacious and endearing enough to make Christian seem like a cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen in comparison. Jamie Dornan’s turns as a sociopathic serial killer on The Fall and a fairy-tale huntsman on Once Upon a Time have proven to us that he can act, which is why his performance in Fifty Shades is so unexpectedly dreadful. Despite his model status, he gives Christian Grey the sex appeal of a broken vibrator. He’s unconvincing and almost apologetic for how ridiculously macho he’s supposed to be, gritting out lines like “I don’t make love. I fuck. Hard” and “If you were mine, you couldn’t sit for a week” with a pained, constipated grimace.
The supporting cast does the best they can with the limited material they’re given. Marcia Gay Harden as Christian’s flamboyant mother is a welcome whiff of class, and pop star Rita Ora makes a forgettable ten-second appearance in a wig from the Prohibition Era as Christian’s sister. Eloise Mumford (Kate, Ana’s roommate) and Jennifer Ehle (Carla, Ana’s mother) both accomplish their jobs of looking interested while Ana tries to describe Christian without mentioning the kinky sex part. Turns out, there’s not a whole lot else to his character.
There’s also not a whole lot to the kinky sex, either. Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan both have amazing bodies and great O-faces, but the two of them have so little chemistry in bed that it’s more like watching two people separately reach climax. They don’t communicate, or even really acknowledge each other, during sex — which is a huge problem for a movie that marketed itself purely on whips and blindfolds. Christian and Ana barely dip below the surface of anything shocking or scandalous; the only part of a sex scene that surprised me was when Christian pulled out a condom.
As for the direction, it’s not terrible. Sam Taylor-Johnson (who incidentally scored the biggest box office opening for a female director with this movie) does her best to keep the characters from seeming too cliché, and she gives some scenes a welcome comedic spin (Ana drunk-dialing Christian is particularly inspired). Like its source material, the direction was also clearly inspired by its Twilight predecessor. Taylor-Johnson distracts the audience from the insipid plot with gorgeous landscapes, a clean palette of greys and greens, and an incredible soundtrack featuring an original remix of Beyonce’s early-2000s hit “Crazy in Love.” When all of these elements combine, it’s easy to forget that Dakota Johnson is acting alongside a glorified clothes mannequin. It is, however, impossible to forget that the movie barely has a plot. Overall, Fifty Shades of Grey merely putters along its will-she-sign-the-contract-or-won’t-she storyline. Despite its many sex scenes, the film never reaches a climax.
Originally written in February 2015. You know, when this movie was relevant.
