Fifty Shades of
What the Crikey Fuck?!?
The Lifeguard returns with a review of the blockbuster movie, Fifty Shades of Grey, which was released on the world (like a case of the mumps) on Friday the thirteenth. And, since there are about 100 million oversexed women who read the eponymous book (and another 100 million men who want to get laid), it seems that Valentine's Day weekend would be a good jumping off point for the movie, which had made about $35 million as of this writing.
Sadly for everyone (but EL James), the movie was horrendous. The acting in the film was awful. Even Judy Dench and Daniel Day Lewis couldn't make this shit believable (or watchable). Interestingly, in a story that demands that the audience accept the convention that Christian Grey (played by some dude) and Anastasia Steele (played by Dakota something-or-other) had some animal attraction, we are treated to two people with less on-screen chemistry than Bill Cosby and the twenty-six women who have accused him of drugging and raping them.
Christian Grey is a rich, brooding douche bag. Oh, sure, he can play the piano, fly a glider and a helicopter, and tie a necktie; but, then again, so could Thomas Crown. (And, Pierce Brosnan was way more likable.) Come to think of it, so was Steve McQueen. (See, Steve McQueen was in the original The Thomas Crown Affair, which was made back in 1968, when movies were dependent on acting, not CGI and shameless promotion.) He is dominant; and, quite possibly, a stalker. Then again, if he could carry a football, Christian Grey could play for the Ravens.
Anastasia Steele is a mousy college student, a lover of Hardy, and (naturally) a virgin, who meets Christian Grey when her roommate, a reporter for the school newspaper, comes down with the flu. After the interview, he starts stalking her, has his lawyers draw up some papers, and then he fucks out her brains. (After putting on a condom, of course.)
And then, Christian does some creepy things, Anastasia does some dopey things, and the movie ends, leaving us wanting...anal fisting. (Because, at least when you get the fist, you get it with lube.)
The Lifeguard gives it no stars.
And, may God have mercy on our souls.
Sadly for everyone (but EL James), the movie was horrendous. The acting in the film was awful. Even Judy Dench and Daniel Day Lewis couldn't make this shit believable (or watchable). Interestingly, in a story that demands that the audience accept the convention that Christian Grey (played by some dude) and Anastasia Steele (played by Dakota something-or-other) had some animal attraction, we are treated to two people with less on-screen chemistry than Bill Cosby and the twenty-six women who have accused him of drugging and raping them.
Christian Grey is a rich, brooding douche bag. Oh, sure, he can play the piano, fly a glider and a helicopter, and tie a necktie; but, then again, so could Thomas Crown. (And, Pierce Brosnan was way more likable.) Come to think of it, so was Steve McQueen. (See, Steve McQueen was in the original The Thomas Crown Affair, which was made back in 1968, when movies were dependent on acting, not CGI and shameless promotion.) He is dominant; and, quite possibly, a stalker. Then again, if he could carry a football, Christian Grey could play for the Ravens.
Anastasia Steele is a mousy college student, a lover of Hardy, and (naturally) a virgin, who meets Christian Grey when her roommate, a reporter for the school newspaper, comes down with the flu. After the interview, he starts stalking her, has his lawyers draw up some papers, and then he fucks out her brains. (After putting on a condom, of course.)
And then, Christian does some creepy things, Anastasia does some dopey things, and the movie ends, leaving us wanting...anal fisting. (Because, at least when you get the fist, you get it with lube.)
The Lifeguard gives it no stars.
And, may God have mercy on our souls.
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