A Review of a Sexy Naughty Sex Film

It is a Wednesday night in a very packed movie theatre in Toronto. Everyone is here to watch 50 Shades of Grey. In a fun twist, the theatre is half cynical journalists there to review it, and half enthused contest winners, eager for a sneak peek at the long-awaited franchise. It feels like the entire back of the theatre has recently escaped en masse from horny jail. “This movie is rated PG,” a woman near me says to her friend, “Pinot Grigio!!!!” She will turn out to be my favourite part of the entire film.

Which is not to say the movie is devoid of pleasant surprises: Dakota Johnson is, as many critics have already noted, very good. Unlikely levels of good. How-are-you-doing-this good. Anastasia Steele is all clichés — a cardigan to signify virginity, brown hair to signify bookishness, non-stop lip biting (internationally recognized beacon of horn) — who appears, at one point, to be both turned on and impressed by a mid-level skyscraper, and who immediately falls to the ground in front of Christian Grey because she can’t work a door. Somehow, Johnson pulls it off with charm and what seems to be at least a bit of tongue in her cheek. For all her character’s implausible traits — a beautiful but incredibly horny twenty-something virgin, an unironic flip phone owner — Johnson’s performance is grounded and believable. She is all of us when Christian Grey tries to flirtatiously purchase rope and duct tape from her hardware store and she coolly points out they are all the trappings of a serial killer. [NB: gentlemen, if a woman you are courting asks if you’re planning to murder someone, “not today” is an insufficient answer.]

Other high points of the film include Beyoncé (duh), a nice full bush on Anastasia (plus a spotlight on some downy thigh hair, respect) and not one but two sexy shots of C.Grey readying a condom in a sensual manner. Is this the year that safe sex finally becomes hot??

Visually, the film is nice to look at, if a bit of a blunt instrument: after Ana first meets Grey, she rushes into the street flushed and is immediately soaking wet…because it’s raining. Later, in a horny revery, she rubs a pencil stamped with his name all over her mouth. You get the idea.

Now, onto the negs, and there are many. Starting with the most egregious: there is not a single peen shot in this entire film. Not a one. I could describe to you every freckle on Dakota Johnson’s breasts (there are a few and they’re very cute!) but all we get of Jamie “Hired For His Looks” Dornan is a shot of some man-pubes in low-slung jeans. There are more dicks in a Red Hot Chilli Peppers video than in this entire rough sex movie. Like, it’s 2015. #FreeTheDongs

With the exception of a fun business meeting in some kind of dimly lit sex-and-sushi boardroom, there is not a particularly charged vibe to the film in general. The leads have very little chemistry and Johnson does a lot of the heavy lifting on her own. While the radio traffic announcer hosting the preview screening joked that everyone should “turn their phones on vibrate for the duration of the film,” it is hard to think anyone watching was titillated, let alone aroused enough for a public iPhone masturbation sesh mid-show. For a Sexy Naughty Sex Film, it was lacking in both sex (naughty scenes make up about 15 minutes total of quite a long viewing) and sexiness (Christian Grey’s main appeal to Anastasia seems to be that he wears suits and takes her in a lot of different aircrafts?).

And, okay. I had not expected the film to handle BDSM well, but my goodness. Several pages of my notes are just strings of exclamation marks. I can completely see why the kinky community was annoyed with the book, and why they will certainly be annoyed with the film as well. BDSM is presented in the book as an activity broken, emotionally unavailable people inflict on others compulsively and without their consent. Anastasia hates it. Christian — who was abused for years as a teen by an older woman and whose mother was literally a crack-addicted prostitute — says this is the only way he knows how to achieve intimacy, that he doesn’t do “the hearts and flowers thing.” But BDSM is not the opposite of romance. Having a submissive is not the alternative to having a girlfriend.

The onscreen representation of BDSM is lazy and stereotypical and bad, sure, but what’s most confusing to me about this franchise is how this version of kink spurred millions of women (and probably some men) to explore bondage, sadism, or masochism in their own lives. It’s hard to imagine anyone watching this movie and thinking, “That looks fun.” The Red Room of Pain (sure) brings mostly emotional pain to both Christian and Anastasia. This is because neither one respects their partner’s boundaries or gets consent for the things they want to do, which — as you will know if you ask anyone who has even so much as spanked their partner one time while drunk on vacation — is the number one rule of sex in general but kinky sex in particular. Despite an unsigned, detailed sexual contract and an outlining of Anastasia’s sexual limits, Christian violates her boundaries all the time, showing up uninvited at bars, her house, and even travelling to Georgia unannounced when Ana decides to have some alone time with her mom. Ana also violates her own limits, asking Christian to show her the worst he can do, then not using her safe words to stop him when he starts whipping her aggressively with a leather belt. The movie literally ends with Ana shouting “You will never do that to me again!” as she leaves the apartment in tears. Remind me again how this tale awakened the erotic urges of a nation?

Because here’s the thing: two consenting adults could have a greaaaaaat time in that rich guy’s BDSM room. There would be no time for helicopter rides or manipulative car gifts or pouring but not drinking so many glasses of white wine (a huge oversight on the film’s part, red is the horniest wine) if both Christian and Anastasia were actually interested in BDSM play as a fun, safe, erotic activity. Put simply: they would be straight fuckin’ the entire 125 minutes of the film. Sexually speaking, this movie feels like a porn you clicked on because the video title appealed, and then five minutes into it something terrible starts to happen and you close your computer and you’re worried you may never be horny again. Find a woman who wants to be your submissive, Christian! Go date Paul from the hardware store, Ana! (My god, Paul from the hardware store.) Everyone read a book about BDSM and then take a nap and let me know what you decide.

Most upsetting to me is the idea that this film is in any way transgressive or forward thinking. It is, in fact, a tale as old as time: young, naive woman wants love, while an older, powerful man wants sex on his terms. In its attitudes towards gender and sex, this film is a vanilla milkshake. It’s your grandparents lovingly caressing each other after 40 years of marriage on a bed made of milquetoasts. It’s a white guy in a turtleneck writing a love letter with the words “roses are red” in it. It’s a Wonderbread sandwich with the crusts cut off. It’s one tender vanilla bean atop a plain milk smoothie (skim).

Bottom line: if you like white bums, this is the film for you. There are so many little white bums in it! If you respect the nuance and range of human sexuality, it’s probably not your vibe. Overall, I would rate this movie Pinot Grigio 13. Please view responsibly.

Monica Heisey is a writer and comedian from Toronto. Her work has appeared in The Toast, The Cut, Rookie, Gawker, VICE, Playboy, and many other web and print publications. Her first book, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better, comes out Spring 2015. Writing about herself in the third person is a nightmare.