So, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ is out in the cinema and by all accounts the critics appear to be agreed it’s a lousy film based on a lousy book.
I’ve not read it: this sort of literature, even well written, wouldn’t be my first choice of reading material, and the excerpts I’ve read from various online sources would suggest that it is really pedestrian, unimaginative but unintentionally hilarious purple prose.
“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince”
Surely someone didn’t actually write that and have it published?
“I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.”
Stop it! I know there’s a BDSM theme going on in it, but those words cause me immense pain me as an example of ‘literature’.
“He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”
If a man had written this book there would have been uproar from feminists about him inflicting all sorts of things upon her, but because the writer is female, it seems to have negated much of the justifiable criticism of it as an excuse for domestic violence (if we define domestic violence in the broadest sense).
I agree with those criticisms. And those criticisms. And those criticisms. And dozens of other criticisms.
Choosing to release it on St Valentine’s Day is also a crass move. The film is not about romance, it’s about control; not the basis for any healthy relationship.
I think I shall prefer to spend the evening with a nice bottle of wine, my beloved, some candlelight, and some soft music instead. Should one thing lead to another, it will be a gentle, mutually loving experience, not this objectionable ’50 shades’ nonsense.