Happy Valentine’s Grey! ☺ A marker for the most dismal possibilities of e-publishing
Depressing but inevitable, we suppose, that proof of the unbounded possibilities of unmediated publishing should have come from this witless book. Never mind, it’s perfect for Falselove-choccie-flowers day.
Highlights from the best commentary – the second set, from a review of the film: there will never be a funnier one.
What a time it is to be alive! For this week of all weeks is when anyone who has anything at all to promote, from duct tape to their own good selves, can attain international attention … All they need to do is somehow claim their self-promotion has something to do with Fifty Shades of Grey.
As even Trappist monks in South Korea know, this is the week that the film of EL James’s hilariously successful book is released. Truly, this would be the perfect Valentine’s Day date …
… [I]t is impossible to think of another movie that has proved itself so amenable to lazy PRs and others desperate to hitch their wagons to this attention-sucking vortex, … I honestly don’t think there’s been a day in the past three months when I haven’t received at least five emails from PRs flogging everything from manicures to men’s ties, that haven’t made some grasping reference to Fifty Shades of Desperation. Condom brands and bedding companies have cannily claimed some sort of alliance with the film, replete with mini films and competitions, with one even offering a prize of “a Sealy Ultimate Support Mattress (in grey!)”. Because what could be sexier than coming home and finding your partner has won you a free grey mattress?
Part of the difficulty is the lack of sexual chemistry between the two leads. This is a particularly acute problem in a tale of two lovers exploring a relationship that takes in the wilder shores of bondage, submission, dominance and terrible dialogue.
Grey’s eyes are supposed to blaze with seething lust all the time, but he just looks as if he’s suffering from trapped wind. Nurse, fetch the Tums!
It is true that this Hollywood adaptation is not as bad as the books.
Poor Dakota — the daughter of actors Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith — is often naked, with a high nipple count, lots of buttock shots and occasional flash of front bottom.
Jamie gets to keep his jeans on a lot, which hardly seems fair or feminist, although we do get to see his impressive bottom, rippling with muscles like a bag of walnuts.
Do you trust me?’ he says, undoing her hair.
Yikes, what is he going to give her? A perm?
Soon, they are walking hand in hand towards his sex dungeon for the first time — it’s a big moment in any relationship.
‘Are your Xboxes in there?’ she wonders. The Red Room of Pain where the tyings-up take place — infamous for those who have read the books — looks like a Pilates gym … all sleek cherry leather and shiny clasps.
There are mysterious instruments hung on the walls; whips and manacles, yes. But what are the rest — squirrel tails, that feather duster from Downton Abbey, a paddle, two bread boards?
Meanwhile, there is some hanky panky with ice cubes and a bit of ever so tasteful, slow-motion peacock-feather-tickling that will remind many women not of their libido, but the fact that their mantelpiece could do with a dust.