If a Michelin star chef were to open a restaurant named “Garbage Gourmet”, built around the concept of taking daily shipments of month-old rotten garbage, and using it to create the daily menu, what’s the best you could expect? I imagine the Yelp reviews wouldn’t be so kind. How could they be? The chef was starting with nothing and while he/she may have done their very best to offer up something edible, in the end, the ingredients wouldn’t allow for a successful restaurant. The question is, who’s to blame? The chef or the ingredients?
I asked myself a similar question after enduring Fifty Shades of Grey, the filmed adaptation of E.L. James‘ romance novel, born out of “Twilight” fan fiction. Director Sam Taylor-Johnson and stars Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan were given garbage to work with so is it any surprise the end result is cinematic sewage? But can I blame the director or actors. After all, they did their best. But is that enough? They signed on knowing what they were working with and if they were unwilling to do what was necessary to make it better then yes, they can be blamed and should be.
Sure, do your best, color within the lines, and, in spite of the material, about midway through there was still a chance this film could have been… something. Imagine taking a bite from your first dish at “Garbage Gourmet”. The chef may have been able to present something that looks mildly appealing and your first bite is, uhhh-okay, but then it becomes a situation like Frank Costanza over-seasoning rotten beef. The chef was trying to hide the decay with whatever culinary skills he/she could muster, but when what you’re starting with is rotten, it’s rotten and some stench you just can’t hide.
Telling the story of recent college graduate (and hardware store employee) Anastasia Steele (Johnson) and billionaire entrepreneur Christian Grey (Dornan), Fifty Shades of Grey follows this “relationship” as Christian introduces Anna to his world of sexual bondage and sadomasochism. He doesn’t have “normal” relationships and he “doesn’t do romance”. Instead, he gets girls to sign a contract declaring them his “submissive”, which allows him to take them into his red room of whips, handcuffs and butt plugs. Anna, however, isn’t immediately taken to the idea, and yet, she can’t ignore her lust for Mr. Grey. Slowly she finds herself giving in to his kinky games, though she isn’t about to sign any contract and she definitely isn’t interested in anal (or vaginal) fisting. You can strike that from the contract right now Mr. Man! And while we’re at it, stop taking big bites of my toast!
And this is the plot of your film. Christian tries to get Anna to sign the contract while Anna continues to ponder the possibility. In the meantime the two have sex, after which Christian either plays a solemn tune on his piano or the two argue about the contract. That’s it.
Admittedly, Dornan, looking like Eric Bana‘s doppelganger, is a convincing enough, angsty billionaire with a sordid past both hidden and revealed and Johnson does perfectly fine as the naive, lip-biting virginal prey of this weirdo. With two more books in the series and two more movies surely on the way, you can see where the gist of the story is heading as she will need to break him out of this shell and free him from the abusive past he’s hiding (and clinging to) and I’m sure there will be plenty of soap opera-level shenanigans to fill the space in-between.
By the end of it all will Christian tear up the contract or will Anna finally sign it? Will Christian give up his pursuit of a BDSM relationship with Anna and finally take her to a movie? Will he finally play a happy tune on his grand piano? Just how far will Anna be willing to go sexually? At the very least, I have to give it up to Dakota Johnson, her breasts are basically a supporting character in this film and I hope they kept the set warm for her.
Perhaps the worst offense the film suffers from is that it is in no way sexy or titillating. In fact, I felt absolutely nothing during any one of the numerous sex scenes. They felt staged, calculated and, mostly, repetitive. Layers of sultry tunes accompany ropes, ice, the top half of Dornan’s ass, Johnson’s breasts and a whole lot of heavy breathing. The fact this isn’t pornography, means it never gets pornographic and yet enough is shown that there’s little left to the imagination. But that’s what the fans wanted… right?
Fans wanted to see Anna succumb to Christian… right? Or am I missing something? Because this means there’s only so much Taylor-Johnson can do with these scenes as Johnson is left to writhe around in ecstasy and the audience is asked to watch and, what… get turned on? Close their eyes and feel as if they are participating? What is the purpose? This is the chief question.
Why is Fifty Shades of Grey a thing that exists? In book form, I get it, let your imagination run wild in a bit of smut for a few hours. With a movie all the imagination is up there on the screen, what’s left? Especially in a story that goes absolutely nowhere. The only thing redeeming about this movie is it won’t end anyone’s career as much as it won’t help. “Well, you managed to not embarrass yourself,” is all an agent can say to any of their clients after this. Sam Taylor-Johnson, her cast and crew, have taken a pile of garbage and dressed it up as something else, but once you’re knee deep in the muck and the flies start buzzing you’re reminded once again just what exactly you’ve stepped in.
