On Valentine’s Day weekend this past February, I was feeling impulsive. Breaking my usual habit of lounging in sweats under my covers, I ventured out into the frigid winter air with a few friends and paid fifteen dollars to watch the year’s most anticipated movie, advertised since Christmas and impossible to miss. And on opening night, no less. It was an uncharacteristically bold endeavor on all accounts.
Before hitting the silver screen on the year’s most marketable day for an erotic-romance movie, Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James made its debut as a work of fanfiction to Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight in 2011. It was soon picked up by an Australian publishing company, split into a trilogy, and made available for at-home printing and ebook download. By 2012, Vintage Books acquired publishing rights and released what would become an international bestseller. Since its print release, Fifty Shades, as it’s been colloquially termed, has been translated into 52 languages.
Sent to interview the young and remarkably successful entrepreneur Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) on her roommate’s behalf, college senior Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) shyly enters a lavish Seattle business tower looking plain and innocent as can be. As Christian diverts the interview away from himself to a means of getting to know Anastasia personally, she presses her pencil to her full lips in a dramatically overdone camera shot to signal the beginning of a sexual adventure.
Soon after their first encounter, Christian reveals his deep attraction to Anastasia but confesses that he wants nothing close to the normal male-female relationship. Instead, he asks her to submit to him as he acts as a dominant, showing her his “playroom” full of whips and chains and even providing her with a contract delineating her sexual limitations in his BDSM game. Although initially unsure of the ramifications of her decision, Anastasia eventually signs off as a submissive and places full control in the hands of Christian Grey.
On both a critical and popular level, the film leaves a lot to be desired. The plot is stale and unmoving after the thirty-minute mark. The dialogue is trivial, characterization flat, and the nudity sometimes verges on adolescent. But frankly, anyone who moves to criticize Fifty Shades on the basis of gratuitous nudity (yes, we all saw that crotch shot and gasped in surprise–is this movie only rated R?) either entered the theater clueless or with hilariously false perceptions in mind. Its plot is sex, and sex means naked, so naked is what you shall see.
An almost redeeming quality of the film is its soundtrack, which features pop star Ellie Goulding. Ultimately, though, it merely causes a viewer to wonder how the acclaimed artist was tricked into the most inelegant gig of her career. Poor Ellie Goulding. She may now forever be associated with Christian Grey’s playroom and the unspeakable acts that go on behind its doors.
No matter the success of Goulding’s music, it will never make up for the disastrous depiction of Christian Grey. Even without having read the book, an awareness of the popular conversation surrounding Fifty Shades would naturally lead one to imagine Christian as a confident, powerful figure. On this, unfortunately, Jamie Dornan completely fails to deliver. His quiet adaptation of Christian leaves an apologetic trail across every scene, especially as he reveals the source of his dominant desires. And instead of his unusual tenderness toward Anastasia providing a point of likeability, Dornan only portrays that characteristic as vulnerable and odd. Neither fit Christian Grey.
Despite all of its shortcomings, the audience’s change in reactions as Fifty Shades went on provides a telling indicator to the movie’s potential success. Viewers began with unanimous signs of nerves and even embarrassment, giggling and whispering among themselves as the opening credits rolled in. At the first contrived exchanges between Anastasia and Christian, the theater erupted with loud laughter as the unsuspecting pair manifested on screen. And then the nervous giggling paired with guffawing returned at the first sign of nudity, and then at a BDSM scene.
But about halfway through the movie as Christian’s desires flamed and Anna’s submissiveness bore to fruition, the audience fell silent and remained so for the duration of the film. Gone were thoughts of “What am I doing here?” and “This is going to be ridiculous.”
Call it a disgusted, speechless reaction to the whipping and handcuffing transpiring before them, but I’d argue something different. This audience was hooked.