No surprise

Rating: 1/10 (12 February 2015)

Perhaps appropriately, given its subject matter, Fifty Shades of Grey feels like two, distinct films grappling for dominance over the screen: one, a sensual and stylish romance about a young woman on a path of self-discovery, both in and out of the bedroom – and the other, a numbingly explicit Harlequin bodice-ripper brought to life, better suited for Cinemax's late night library than the multiplex. Unfortunately, the lesser one of the pair ends up on top, no doubt due to the creative stranglehold in which author E.L. James held director Sam Taylor-Johnson and screenwriter Kelly Marcel throughout the adaptation process, meaning that viewers get to be teased and titillated – then totally turned off (not to mention left with a severe case of blue balls, thanks to an anti-climactic ending that calls to mind an arcade game's "Insert More Quarters" display). In other words, Fifty Shades of Grey is a victim of behind-the-scenes drama, neither the glossy and intriguingly tragicomic tale of dangerous sexual politics Taylor-Johnson tried to make, nor the thoroughly smutty romance James clearly felt her story worked better as. Instead, tt's the limpest, most colorless hybrid of the two possible. Any true movie lover will detest James for holding a talented director back in her own little, pathetic show of dominance, though it's possible that some fans of the book may have lusted after an adaptation that, on the contrary, existed solely to allow for visualization of the author's most salacious sentences. That's for them to report. The fans already spoke once, back in the summer of 2012, turning James' novel into the fastest-selling paperback of all time, which suggests more readers share her fixation with raw sexuality than would like to admit.