Fifty Shades of Grey delivers, however ponderously, on its promise of pop transgressiveness.
Basically, they made a lousy, mid-2000s-era Katherine Heigl romance with a handful of explicit sex scenes spliced throughout the familiar clich�s.
Think of it as the "Downton Abbey" of bondage, designed neither to menace nor to offend but purely to cosset the fatigued imagination.
It realizes this story is ridiculous in ways the book itself never could. It has an actual sense of humor.
It's been said that the movie contains 20 minutes of sex; if this is the case, it must contain at least 40 minutes of Ana biting her lip or putting a pencil in her mouth.
Who would have imagined that a movie about sex could be so boring?
The film doesn't culminate in anything. It's a bunch of scenes that end before any kind of satisfying conclusion.
In the annals of sexually-charged event cinema, "Fifty Shades of Grey" barely lights a candle let alone combusts with unbridled forbidden passion.
Nobody sweats or pants or experiences onscreen ecstasy, which is presumably how a movie about violent sex manages to avoid an NC-17 rating, but the result feels like 50 shades of beige.