It’s a touchy subject but conclusive all the same. This Valentine’s Day’s spotlight film, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” can be described best by its pre-screening banter more than anything:
“I wholeheartedly agree that he’s a misogynist,” says a young perhaps-college-student wearing film critic training glasses and a Wilco T-shirt. He’s either talking to himself or the theater’s balcony void.
“I didn’t want to review this one, but I wanted to be part of the conversation. Sex is a debatable thing, you know?” offers a notebook-holding “professional” two seats over. He’s bald and nodding his head for back-up agreement.
An opening sequence of “I Put a Spell on You” and cloud footage draws matching reactions from both viewers: “Of course.”
They’re single, and so are you because this is the least romantic movie on the planet. Kneel down to that upon arrival, verify it by texting your mom “It’s good, clean family fun” upon exit and cross your legs throughout the film. Laughter-induced urination is a debatable thing, you know?
Emotional investment stops right at the beginning of Sam Taylor-Johnson’s “Fifty Shades of Grey.” Despite its deeply involved cult origin in E. L. James’s 2011 first installment of her erotic romance trilogy, this adaptation feeds a completely different V-Day personality than maybe you’re used to. Shifting the audience from sexually frustrated moms to cynical singles, “Fifty Shades of Grey” affirms the love-is-a-hilarious-myth mentality to callous “dumpees” everywhere.
It’s a comedy, hopefully written and produced for those who expect just that.
If the novel’s hype hasn’t already exposed the story’s “please cover up” plot for you, the film’s first five minutes certainly pick up all slack. Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson), literally falls into the office of high-powered businessman Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan), a self-proclaimed “people person” who enjoys “physical pursuits” and never blinks. She interviews Grey for a student newspaper article, asking only the journalistic essentials: “To what do you owe your success?” and “Are you gay?” Some lip-biting ensues, and it’s all coitus from there — but definitely not the kind you traditional romantics would be hoping for.
The humor roots itself in the pair’s formulaic affair, as a majority of the film is dedicated to Steele deciding whether or not to sign a contract delineating her role as Grey’s “submissive.” Requirements are strict in manner and reminiscent of the sort of secrets revealed in Jerry Springer’s anti-love gameshow “Baggage.” Under these conditions, Grey controls everything from Steele’s sexual agenda to her caloric intake.
In return, Steele gets a queen-sized bed, routine punishment via whatever “floggers” are and an all-access pass to “the playroom.” Cue the sighs (and eye rolls), although Johnson’s breathy voice alone inflates a room’s air pressure enough as it is. Ridiculous hilarity takes the stage with any of their sexual deals sealed with a (classic?) “Email me if you have any questions.” Here, “Fifty Shades,” knowingly or not, picks away at any belief in romantic altruism with the allure of staying home alone, downing a bottle of wine and listening to Joni Mitchell. Too much? This entire movie is too much.
A dehumanized Grey also grants reason for audiences to bend over in stitches. He is not a character. He’s a situation into which Steele is unmercifully thrust. Perhaps it’s Dornan’s insincere delivery of key lines concerning Grey’s rough past. Or maybe it’s the “other men” in Steele’s life, José and Paul, whose names must be pulled straight from a diverse word problem in a math book. Regardless of cause, Grey becomes so immortalized in his antics on screen that attachment and sympathy for him are practically impossible. Sure, his character is not necessarily intended to be a romantic lead, but said arrangement begs humor from even the desire to want more. Hopelessness is alive and well and chuckle-inducing in light of Grey and his likeness to primed drywall.
Surprisingly, the aesthetics provide a refreshing curveball to the equation. There’s a commendable amount of “not grey,” despite the flick’s title and plenty of sleek apartments that, at least, give the indulgent feeling of watching HGTV at 2 a.m. However, no flashy cinematography can shift the viewer’s focus from the funny bone to the heart.
Overall, the male and female, the boss and student, the dominant and submissive are not relatable, providing enough distance for comedic effect.
Due to the contracted sex, unsavory pick-up lines and onward strangeness, “Fifty Shades of Grey” exempts itself from the romantic category immediately. So refrain from bringing a date along for the ride. This one’s best enjoyed from the single-celled organism perspective. Sit back, laugh and take solace in your bitterness toward the local dating scene this Valentine’s Day. After all, if these are the kind of people that get “love,” then maybe a legs-crossed attitude provides better footing and more comfort than expected.
