Look at him standing all sexy and stuff.
This is easy fare for the critic, he must admit. We have a movie adaptation of a poorly-written erotic novel based off of Twilight fan fiction. It's not going to be good. But the critic has certain social obligations, and he was forced against his will to attend a showing, so now everybody gets to hear what he thinks, and the world, my dear readers, is better for it.
The premise is laughable; a twenty-seven-year-old billionaire (There are no such things) is inexplicably taken with a pretty but otherwise unremarkable English student. Anastasia Steele (Jesus, what a ridiculous name) is special, and easily intimidated by Christian Grey, a skinny, well-dressed homosexual with the general demeanor of a serial killer. That's not a joke--Grey does serial killer things in this movie, and I'm not talking about light bondage or handcuffs. He immediately becomes obsessed with Anna and won't leave her alone, using his apparently infinite wealth to follow her to Georgia from Seattle when she tries to get away from him. There's also a scene where Anna has too much to drink and calls Christian, who acts like she's about to die, driving to her aid and aggressively throwing her seemly-nice friend out of the way like he was about to rape her. Christian then takes her to his hotel where she passes out and they sleep together, (at this point of the movie they have basically just met) and when when Anna awakes in the morning, she predictably thinks oh God, what happened? but Mr. Serial Killer assures her that he didn't rape her, scout's honor. You see, Anna trusts Christian because he's good-looking and rich as fuck. It doesn't matter that he's possessive, insanely jealous, emotionally stunted, and possibly a serial killer. He gives her helicopter rides and plane rides and new cars. What kind of goddamn message are you trying to tell us, Fifty Shades of Grey? The worst part is that Anna believe that Christian can change because he tells her so. "You're changing me," he says, after telling her that she belongs to him. But he doesn't do love stuff, just so she knows, like sleeping in the same bed as his partner or letting her touch him. Christ, if he weren't so goddamn rich, Anna would be running from this psycho like he was Ted Bundy. The problem with Christian isn't that he wants to sexually demean Anna. From what we are shown, that doesn't happen. The problem is he doesn't want to treat her like a person and she's okay with that. She finally leave his ass in the last scene of the movie because he spanks her kinda hard with a leather whip (with her consent, I might add) and not because he's stalking her, or telling her what to do and eat, or not letting her wipe her ass without his permission. Jesus, does any woman really want this? Is this a fantasy for someone? Hell, there are piece of shit abusive boyfriends a dime a dozen in this country. Sometimes they are even rich! God, the writer of this tripe must be a dumb fucking cow. Moo, E.L. James. Moo.
The supposed risque sexual content is about as wild as an obese forty-year-old Midwestern housewife. The critic does worse in his bedroom, he can assure you, and he is not exactly the Marquis de Sade. The average sex scene is as steamy as a softcore Cinemax skin-flick. Since most of the content of the film is composed of such stuff, we end up with a boring movie about an abusive boyfriend whose wealth is his only redeeming feature. Sounds very titillating, right? The critic wishes he could retrieve those two hours of his life he spent in the theater with preteen girls and obese mothers.
The critic does want to say something good about this movie, just because. The soundtrack is remarkable and much sexier than the film. Give it a listen instead.