Fifty Shades of Grey movie review: neurotica

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Let’s be clear about one thing: The problem with Fifty Shades of Grey is not the sex. I mean, apart from how Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson have no onscreen chemistry at all. And apart from how watching them pretend to fuck is utterly unsexy and unromantic. And apart from how coy and tediously vanilla the pretend-sex is (even more vanilla than the not-at-all-BDSMy sex in the book!). And apart from how no one ever gets to actually come because the gauzy dissolve into the next scene happens before anyone orgasms… every single time. And apart from how the heterosexual female director of this film, which is intended for an almost entirely heterosexual female audience, chose to shoot the sex scenes in a preposterously male-gazey way, with the camera lingering as it swoops up and down Johnson’s naked body in a way it never does on Dornan’s, as if when heterosexual women think about having sex with a hot guy they imagine themselves not using their eyes to drink in what he looks like but somehow letting their eyes float off into the distance in order to luxuriate in a disembodied view of their own breasts and asses being revealed as they are undressed.

(It’s not like director Sam Taylor-Johnson doesn’t know how to do female-gazey! Check out her Nowhere Boy, about teenaged John Lennon: the camera positively makes love to her leading man, Aaron Johnson. Of course, that was a low-budget British indie, and this is a big-budget Hollywood production. Are the studios really so afraid of female desire that even in a movie about a sexual relationship told from a woman’s perspective, a male gaze must be reinforced? No, don’t answer that…)

Still, the sex is not the problem.

A disturbing number of people who complain about those who complain about Fifty Shades of Grey — the book and now the movie — completely fail to appreciate that the sex isn’t what we complainers are complaining about. Even the clearly coached responses from Johnson and Dornan on the red carpet of the London premiere of the film on Thursday night missed it: They went on and on about how careful everyone involved in making the film was to ensure that it’s clear that all the sex is consensual.


And it is. Every sexual act in the film occurs with at least the unspoken agreement of both parties, and sometimes with explicit spoken negotiated consent. But an intimate relationship is about more than sex. Sex isn’t the only understanding between lovers (or even just friends) that requires consent. There are boundaries that have to be respected and personal autonomy that is no one else’s to control. This is meant to be a 21st-century romance, isn’t it? So why does it feel retrograde in ways that are demeaning to both men and women?

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This is a very literal adaptation of E.L. James’s very literal novel — the screenplay is by Kelly Marcel (Saving Mr. Banks) — but it does downplay the worst of its romantic “hero”’s boundary and control issues. It cannot eliminate them, however, because they are fundamental to the extremely traditional ideas about men and women, and about men’s and women’s experience of sexual desire, that the story is about. College student Anastasia Steele (Johnson: Need for Speed, The Five-Year Engagement) is a demure, naive virgin who is literally slack-jawed with awe, literally wide-eyed, and literally giggly with her own self-consciousness when she meets self-made billionaire Christian Grey (Dornan: Marie Antoinette) to interview him for the school newspaper. Thus begins a “relationship” that is all about him pushing her, her rebuffing him after long anxious debates with herself, and him overcoming her objections till he gets what he wants from her, often by showing off how wealthy he is. None of this occurs in a way that is romantically seductive — there is no wooing going on here, and Christian is completely lacking in anything approaching charm. He makes no attempts to be ingratiating, and is in fact domineering and controlling from the get-go. On their very first date, an outing to a coffeeshop, he commands her to eat. Not like “Oh, hey, I thought you might like a muffin with your tea,” but a bark of “Eat!” as he shoves the pastry at her. Him policing her consumption of food and drink will be a recurring thing. This is not normal.

By the time Christian presents Ana with a nondisclosure agreement to sign (also not a normal thing for a prospective boyfriend to do), she has more than enough hints that she should run away very fast in the other direction because he is a dangerously obsessive control freak who wants to be in charge of things he has absolutely no right to be in charge of. She doesn’t run away. But then, a little later, when she decides to turn down his offer to become his sexual submissive (the supposedly BDSM stuff here, as in the book, bears little resemblance to actual BDSM practices) and tells him she never wants to see him again, how does he react? He breaks into her apartment — well, he had previously warned her “I’m incapable of leaving you alone” — to overwhelm her with his fucking. Sure, she doesn’t tell him to leave, and she doesn’t say No to the sex. But this isn’t really a positive thing. Not when it’s underscoring a hoary trope about what women are supposed to do — insist they don’t want sex — and how men are supposed to respond: disbelieve her and give it to her anyway, because she secretly is dying for it.

Shouldn’t we be past the point at which a woman has to pretend not to want sex lest she be called a slut, at least in a woman’s own fantasy? Do some women enjoy pretending they don’t actually like sex?

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On the other hand… Every time Christian steps waaay over a line he shouldn’t — expressing incongruous jealousy as if it’s totally appropriate; believing he should be kept apprised of all of Ana’s movements; treating her material property like it is his to dispose of as he wishes — Ana instantly dismisses and forgets her own objections, which were only the tiniest mewls of objection anyway. Because handsome rich boyfriend? There’s literally no other reason we can see. She never initiates sex — he orders her into it — and she doesn’t appear to have any desire of her own. So maybe she isn’t secretly dying for it, and maybe she just wants the fairy tale of a rich man to sweep her off her feet. Maybe she doesn’t say No to the sex because it’s the price she has to pay to get Christian? Unlike in the book, Ana here has no career aspirations and makes no attempt to find a job after her graduation (which occurs about halfway through the film); maybe she just wants to be taken care of?

This isn’t a better option to explain Ana’s motives.

Either way, we’re left with a woman who is manipulative and weak-willed and a man who is a slave to his hormones in an abusive relationship that is presented as romantic. This is not romance. It’s not even a fresh or original depiction of a messed-up sexual relationship. It would be old hat in a Victorian pulp novel. It is inexcusable today.

Shouldn’t our daydreams be the one place where we don’t have to play by these idiotic, woman- and man-hating rules?

Source: flickfilosopher.com

Fifty Shades of Grey By urbancinefile

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SYNOPSIS: When innocent college student Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) interviews the young, brilliant, and beautiful entrepreneur Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan), she is surprised to discover that she desires him deeply. And as for Christian, he finds himself intrigued by, and unable to resist, the extremely attractive and independent Ana - but Christian makes clear that their relationship must proceed on his own terms. Initially hesitant about Christian's shocking erotic preferences, Ana uncovers the man's secrets, demons, and the roots of his need for control as the pair becomes physically and passionately involved. As the affair grows, Ana even confronts her own unexpected dark desires. It's an erotic, amusing, and spicy tale of emotional growth and physical pleasures.

Review by Louise Keller:She is a romantic in the English literature sense; he doesn't do romance, dates or sleepovers, just kinky sex in his playroom - The Red Room of Pleasure. Welcome to my world, says Jamie Dornan's Christian Grey, as he spanks the shapely, lacy bottom of Dakota Johnson's Anastasia Steele. Perfectly capturing the tone of E.L. James' sensational best-selling novel, this tale of control, sex and submission is tantalizing, titillating and provocative as it offers a voyeuristic peek into a dark world behind closed doors where pain and pleasure are prime menu items. It is a big tease.

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Fans will not be disappointed - it's the new Twilight, 9 1/2 Weeks and Secretary all rolled into one. Targeted largely at a female audience, it is an outright chick flick; the guys may be less enthusiastic. It relies on our fascination and dynamic between the two lead characters.

Johnson (Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson's daughter) is the film's greatest asset - she has that special star quality, when her every action and reaction is riveting. Like Kristen Stewart's Bella in Twilight, her Anastasia has an appealing innocence as she is sucked into a manipulative world that takes her beyond her comfort zone. It's titillating rather than erotic and yes, there is an abundance of sex scenes, all beautifully directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson, who effectively envelops us in a moody cocoon of lust. Seduction and longing play a big part; we feel as though we are getting more than we really are. I get a bit frustrated about those who agitate this is a statement on women's rights; to my mind, it's nothing of the sort. It's a coming of age fantasy adapted from a 'trashy' page turner.

Kelly Marcel's adaptation quickly shows us the contrast between the two worlds - of the virginal literature student from Portland and the immaculately dressed billionaire from rainy Seattle, who exercises control in all things. He's got the plush pad of course, with the grand piano, the dressing room to die for and a fleet of cars. The push-pull element of the relationship between Anastasia and Christian is developed from the outset, beginning in the establishment scene in which Anastasia interviews Christian for the college newsletter. The dialogue comes straight from the novel and it sizzles. It doesn't take long for Christian to bite her lip - something he flags he would like to do the first time he notices her doing it. Not that dissimilar, I suppose to another biting urge in Twilight! There's intensity and a tangible chemistry between Johnson and Dornan, although the latter seems at times rather bland. I felt myself wishing he had the enigmatic James Spader factor a la Secretary, as he spanked Maggie Gyllenhaal.

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There is no shopping spree as such, but Anastasia gets the spoils, like Julia Roberts did in Pretty Woman: clothes, cars, helicopters and joy rides. He wants her to belong to him: to be his submissive. She just wants the 'normal' things: to touch him, go on a date, make love and spend the night together. But that's not how Christian is wired. Cable ties, masking tape, rope, peacock feathers and leather whips are his playthings. Watch out for the scene at Christian's swanky offices, in which Anastasia calls the shots when negotiating the terms of the bondage contracts he wants her to sign.

Stylishly shot and delivering on expectations, Taylor-Johnson paces the film beautifully, the sense of anticipation created from the hot and cold nature of the ever-changing relationship. Of course, we know there are three films in the series, so be prepared for a tease - after all, isn't that indicative of the entire film?

Source: urbancinefile.com.au

Review: 'Fifty Shades of Grey' is Too Dull to be Kinky

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Here's something you probably didn't expect to hear about Fifty Shades of Grey, the adaptation of E.L. James' novel loved by bored soccer moms everywhere: it's utterly ridiculous. Okay, you might have seen that coming, but were you also expecting to learn that it's incredibly dull, too? At the very least, any story involving as much bondage and sexual dominance should be entertaining just out of sheer curiosity. It's sex. Even bad sex is worth keeping your eyes open for...or maybe that's us dudes who feel that way. Regardless, Fifty Shades of Grey, even if it's bad...which it most certainly is....shouldn't be boring, and yet those who take their significant others to see it this Valentine's Day may find the evening ends with a soft kiss on the cheek rather than a night full of boot knockin'.

There's a pretty good chance that nothing from James' novel could be taken at face value on the big screen because it's so damned corny, but it doesn't help to have such a bland star as Jamie Dornan as the BDSM dominant Christian Grey. Then again, the Twilight movies had the ultra-dull Robert Pattinson as the "deep, emotionally tormented" hunky dude, and Fifty Shades of Grey began life as vamp fan-fic. So any notions of normal human behavior should be thrown out the window completely. This is wish fulfillment for the romantically hopeless, nothing more. But damn, can we at least get two stars with a lick of chemistry?

Reports have been going around for weeks about on-set squabbles between the author and mediocre director Sam Taylor-Johnson, but also about the genuine dislike between stars Dornan and Dakota Johnson. It shows. She may have wanted to use the copious amount of blindfolds and neckties to strangle him. If only they had some decent material to work with, maybe it would have made co-existing easier. Instead this thing literally stumbles out of the gate and right into unintentional comedy. Johnson plays naive, sexually-inexperienced English college student Anastasia Steele, who is (rather unbelievably) asked to fill-in for her journalist friend (Eloise Mumford) on a serious interview with isolated billionaire, Christian Grey. After tripping into his office and annoying him with her lack of preparedness (she's an English major not a journalist), somehow this becomes endearing to him. Why? Because the plot needs it to be. Desperately. Never mind there's simply no connection there; or that their mutual interest in one another makes no sense. This is the time where he begins to see her as...well, not a romantic interest but a partner in pain.

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See, Christian has a very particular kind of sexual interest. After a couple of awkward encounters in which he's creepily possessive and kindof a stalker, she gives in to his wooing willingly. But wait, she's all virginal and stuff, which only seems to encourage him further because guys always want to be the first to plant their flag. But Ana's inexperience is the only justification for her interest in Christian at this point. She's apparently experienced nothing in her life, and not just on a sexual level, so when he opens the door to his "red room of pain" she doesn't run away screaming. He wants her to be his sexual submissive; owned like a piece of property and kept in a room on a different floor of the house. Christian doesn't do romance, or so he says, yet at every turn there's a contradiction. He buys her cars, takes her on airplane rights, and basically woos the crap out of her. But he's also so TORTURED and full of painful childhood memories or something. Every cliché about the damaged man who needs to be fixed by a perfectly normal (boring) woman are there. Wait, isn't this movie supposed to be risqué or something?

Despite plenty of sex, there's absolutely nothing sexy or risky about Fifty Shades of Grey. Perhaps if a better director was at the helm (I'd kill to see what David Fincher would do with it) scenes meant to be taken seriously wouldn't have had the audience busting out into laughter. But it's hard to make lines like "I'd like to bite that bottom lip" or "I'm going to fuck you into next week" work no matter who is saying them. Screenwriter Kelly Marcel had her work cut out for her from the start. Any attempt to explore sexual and gender dynamics has all the complexity of a high school crush, but...oh yeah, Twilight fan-fic. That explains it.

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If there's anything good to say about it, and there isn't much, it's the awkward innocence of Dakota Johnson's performance. She's not only funny (intentionally funny, too!), but does as good a job with some of the least sexy sex scenes in recent memory. That she's given nothing to work with from the emotionally vacant Dornan doesn't help her cause, and she deserves credit for not just throwing up her hands in resignation. Others may not have the same willpower. If Fifty Shades of Grey is what such a large legion of people believes romance should look like, then that is incredibly sad.

Source: examiner.com

'Fifty Shades of Grey' bores like no other erotic movie has

I have not read E.L. James’ book Fifty Shades of Grey, and I have yet to hear anyone I know say a good thing about it. But after watching Sam Taylor-Johnson’s cinematic adaptation, I think I understand why it became such a literary phenomenon. It allows its readers to visualize sexual fantasies they don’t get perform in their own lives as the two main characters engage in a sadomasochistic relationship that sounds alarmingly pleasurable. The question however is this, can the individual erotic desires that James’ book conjures up come even close to equaling what we see in this long awaited film adaptation? The answer is no, not even close, and I’m certain you don’t have to have read the book to confirm that.

Fifty Shades of Grey is essentially a big tease of a movie that promises so much naughty stuff but instead ends up giving you very little if anything. It’s like that girl who kept teasing you in high school, and you of course fell for their charms when you should have known better (don’t ask me how I know that). I came in with low expectations, and it proves to be a hilarious comedy for all the wrong reasons. But long before its climax (or lack of one, so to speak), I found myself becoming increasingly bored and started to wonder if this movie would ever end. When it finally did, I found myself breathing a huge sigh of relief.

We come to meet college student Anastasia Steel (Dakota Johnson), an English literature major on the verge of graduating when she is offered the opportunity to conduct an interview with the infinitely wealthy business entrepreneur Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan). Sparks end up flying for them instead of the audience, and while it takes far longer for them to kiss for the first time, it eventually allows Christian to bring Anastasia into his inner sanctum which includes a room filled with all the BDSM equipment you could ever hope to find or see so beautifully maintained.

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Does Anastasia end up becoming the submissive to the dominant Christian? The answer seems fairly certain, but the movie takes forever to get to that point as Christian keeps encouraging Anastasia to sign a contract which will allow him to do the craziest things to her. It got to where I wanted to yell at the screen, “SIGN THE DAMN CONTRACT ALREADY!!!” Granted, Anastasia’s hesitation to do so is understandable and smart, but it just makes her inaction all the more tedious to endure. To encourage her, Christian does several things like buying her a new computer and a new car, selling her old one off in the process, and showing off the cars in his building’s garage (and yes, he owns them all). I kept waiting for Christian to reveal himself as a serial killer, but that would have threatened to make this movie interesting.

Perhaps it’s a mistake to come into Fifty Shades of Grey expecting anything truly realistic as it seems to exist more in a fantasy world than the real world. Still, I can’t help but wonder how Christian Grey finds the time to engage in any kind of sadomasochistic activity when he runs the kind of business that should keep him fully occupied 24/7. Then again, he does have plenty of time to work out at the gym so that he can show off those six-pack abs you know he has hidden underneath that shirt.

Regardless of how I feel about Anastasia as a character and of her foolish descent into Christian’s twisted lifestyle, Dakota Johnson (the daughter of Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith) proves to be quite a good actress. I liked how she was able to convey a variety of emotions without having to say a word, and she is able to show her character’s longing while her co-star is unable to do so, and that’s putting it nicely. With the right role in the right movie, she may end up with quite the career as an actress, and she looks to be capable of doing so much better than this piece of dreck.

As for her co-star, Jamie Dornan who plays Christian Grey, watching him reminded me of The Shawshank Redemption when Red described Andy Dufresne as a guy who “looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over.” Watching Fifty Shades of Grey, I can’t help but think that Dornan was cast just for his good looks. From start to finish, he comes across as so emotionally vacant that I wondered if he was capable of exhibiting any kind of emotion. His face looks like it is frozen in place, and not even sex can seem to thaw it. Dornan does have the best line when he says that he’s “fifty shades of f**ked up,” and that line effectively sums up this whole movie.

Among the other things that really cripple Fifty Shades of Grey is the fact that Johnson and Dornan don’t have much chemistry. Romantic relationships in movies thrive on the stars having some form of chemistry, and that ain’t the case here. Rumor has it that the actors didn’t get along behind the scenes, and that shows here regardless of the studio’s efforts to hide the truth. Then again, it must be somewhat difficult to have chemistry when one lover punishes the other lover physically in order to feel anything.

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Director Sam Taylor-Johnson only has one previous film credit, and that’s Nowhere Boy which chronicles the childhood experiences of John Lennon. I haven’t seen that one, but I’m certain my friend Trevor, a huge John Lennon fan, has many great things to say about it. But whatever great things she was able to accomplish with Nowhere Boy is not on display here as she succeeds in making the most sleep inducing erotic movie ever. The sex scenes come way too late and are very unimaginative. Christian running an ice cube down Anastasia’s stomach? We’ve seen that before. As for Taylor-Johnson’s song selections which include “I Put a Spell on You” and “Beast of Burden,” they are far too obvious, and that’s even though the former is sung by Annie Lennox.

Fifty Shades of Grey marks the first erotic studio movie Hollywood has released since Unfaithful, and that one came out in 2002. This movie represented a chance for Hollywood to deal with sexual relationships more frankly than others have recently, but it instead proves to be an astonishingly chaste motion picture which seems stunning considering the source material. Late night movies on Cinemax and Showtime have far more erotic power than this one (don’t ask me how I know that either), and the sex scenes are so sterile looking that it feels like they were shot in Irvine, California. The marketing department did a brilliant job in titillating moviegoers into thinking they were getting some sexy stuff they won’t find on the internet (not right away anyway), but we went through the same thing with Showgirls and look what happened there. Fifty Shades of Grey ends up making Paul Verhoeven’s camp classic look like Vertigo.

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Seriously, there are so many other movies that are far better than this piece of crap and which deal with sadomasochistic relationships in a healthy and far more sensual way like Secretary which starred James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal and The Duke of Burgundy which is from the director of Berberian Sound Studio, Peter Strickland. What depresses me is that audiences are going to flock out to this adaption than they will to other movies that are far more worth their time and money. Some books translate well to the silver screen, but this one should have stayed on the written page. Then again, when a book like Fifty Shades of Grey sells an incredible amount of copies, why stop there?

Source: examiner.com

Fifty Shades Of Grey Review

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 Perhaps appropriately, given its subject matter, Fifty Shades of Grey feels like two, distinct films grappling for dominance over the screen: one, a sensual and stylish romance about a young woman on a path of self-discovery, both in and out of the bedroom – and the other, a numbingly explicit Harlequin bodice-ripper brought to life, better suited for Cinemax’s late night library than the multiplex.

Unfortunately, the lesser one of the pair ends up on top, no doubt due to the creative stranglehold in which author E.L. James held director Sam Taylor-Johnson and screenwriter Kelly Marcel throughout the adaptation process, meaning that viewers get to be teased and titillated – then totally turned off (not to mention left with a severe case of blue balls, thanks to an anti-climactic ending that calls to mind an arcade game’s “Insert More Quarters” display). In other words, Fifty Shades of Grey is a victim of behind-the-scenes drama, neither the glossy and intriguingly tragicomic tale of dangerous sexual politics Taylor-Johnson tried to make, nor the thoroughly smutty romance James clearly felt her story worked better as. Instead, tt’s the limpest, most colorless hybrid of the two possible.

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Any true movie lover will detest James for holding a talented director back in her own little, pathetic show of dominance, though it’s possible that some fans of the book may have lusted after an adaptation that, on the contrary, existed solely to allow for visualization of the author’s most salacious sentences. That’s for them to report. The fans already spoke once, back in the summer of 2012, turning James’ novel into the fastest-selling paperback of all time, which suggests more readers share her fixation with raw sexuality than would like to admit.

Still, after journeying to the nearest cinema, many will likely make the disappointing discovery that it all just seemed so much better – not to mention hotter – in their heads. To make a direct adaptation of a pornographic novel, after all, is really just to make porn. A truly erotic drama, which Taylor-Johnson may have been making before James laid down the law, is as careful about what it doesn’t show – what it chooses to withhold, leaving the viewer’s ever-fruitful imagination to fill in the blanks – as what it does.

There’s no denying this about Fifty Shades of Grey, as well – no matter how supple its actors’ bodies, romantic its lensing or steamy its soundtrack, it all seems a lot more sinister up on the screen. That’s not a bad thing, to be clear. James’ readers got their rocks off to enticing visions of virginal college student Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) receiving a vigorous sexual education from devilishly handsome, sexually sadistic business magnate Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan), but the film doesn’t conceal the troubling darkness of its source material’s basic premise.

James’ trilogy imparted some terrifying and reckless messages – that sexual violence is permissible in relationships so long as both parties give permission (Anastasia’s utter lack of sexual experience to draw upon makes her surrendering to the more experienced Christian particularly bothersome), that handsome men with boatloads of cash can be as predatory as they want without consequences, that all people who practice BDSM are “fifty shades of fucked up,” and (worst of all) that one should stick with emotionally manipulative, sexually abusive lovers because they might be good boyfriends if you really work at them.

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Fifty Shades of Grey doesn’t right all of those wrongs, but it at least highlights the creeping menace of Christian’s dominance, along with Anastasia’s heartbreak and horror as she realizes just how monstrously vicious Christian’s vicious streak really is. Their relationship – or “business arrangement,” as he might prefer to call it, seeing as Christian recoils from romantic stuff like a vampire from garlic – is not a healthy one in the slightest.

In part, the movie’s decision not to place rose-colored glasses over the lens with regard to its characters’ game of sexual cat-of-nine-tails-and-mouse is why it doesn’t work as a steamy romance. The soundtrack, including a Beyoncé track that’s sexier than anything in the film, can sonically fog up the windows all it wants, but there’s a deep discomfort in watching a clearly damaged man push an inexperienced, insecure woman (who desperately wants him as a normal, loving boyfriend and is submissive to him more for that reason than any other) out of her sexual comfort zone no matter how uneasy she feels about the situations. Consent is sexy. Control, or at least the lopsided and messed-up kind Fifty Shades has, just isn’t.

As a result, the ‘erotic moviegoing experience of the year’ fails to live up to the hype that preceded it. If it hadn’t borne that restricting label, Fifty Shades of Grey may have proven less disappointing, especially given that it boasts an absolutely stellar performance from Johnson. Bravely baring all throughout the film, the actress builds a likeable, occasionally assertive protagonist, both smart and spirited, out of a character who was neither on the page (fear not, Anastasia’s oft-used “Holy crap!” was left out of the script – though Christian does do battle with the absolutely cringeworthy “Laters, baby” line a few times). With a lesser actress, Fifty Shades of Grey would have been unbearable. With Johnson, it’s intermittently absorbing and unexpectedly amusing in places, because the actress brings a laudably self-aware comedy to some key scenes.

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Dornan has considerably less luck, nailing Christian’s holier-than-thou mystique and slick appearance but never evolving into the complicated, multi-faceted protagonist he might have. His chemistry with Johnson, too, is occasionally less than red-hot, though the two of them typically make do with what they have. If nothing else, the actor disappears in a part that should have been much more strongly written. And he does look damn good in those suits.

The other performance worth noting is Taylor-Johnson’s direction, as sleek as a black-and-white perfume ad but with a minimalist touch that renders every surface (especially the leads’ porcelain features) smooth as silk. Though her struggles with James over the content of the film are obvious in its final form, at least the author had the decency not to muffle a striking visual storyteller. The script is a different story, as noted.

Fifty Shades of Grey, in the end, is a messy affair, cursed with a fatally conflicted tone and further bogged down by a poorly told story and occasionally laughable dialogue. Despite Johnson, Taylor-Johnson and (to a lesser degree) Dornan, it’s too morally dubious to beguile and narratively clunky to entertain, even when taken as a light-hearted exploration of forbidden desire. For a movie that questioned its potential audience about their curiosity, teasing and tantalizing them into their seats, Fifty Shades of Grey just has dismayingly little up its sleeve. Who could have guessed that, dragging on at almost two hours, a movie like this would stultify more often than it stimulates? What a buzzkill.

 Sorce: wegotthiscovered.com/movies/fifty-shades-grey-review