A friend of mine recently sent me an excitable and somewhat forceful text message along the lines of; 'Steph, we have to see 50 Shades of Grey when it is released!' It sounded like a commandment, a right of passage. I replied, hesitantly, 'Why on earth do you want to see that trash?' Dismissive, and uninterested in watching, what my mother had referred to in a slight northern accent as '50 shades of sh*te' I expressed my disappointment in her intrigue in to what I viewed as soft porn, untalented, tripe. Okay, my words may be a little harsh however, I stood firmly in my position, I had no interest in female erotica - especially a from which was so badly written, lacking substance, plot and vigor. Hey, don't get me wrong I love books, books with good stories, books with lessons, you know the sort. Refusing to read the book with the belief that the author had cracked some get rich quick scheme, I was not at all a fan of 50 Shades. I would not be a sucker for a dick, ha. I remember the hot summer days of 2012, everyone seemed to barking on about that book - and why exactly? Could it be that it filled some dark, erotic fantasy? Could it be that it took women to a place they had physically never been to before? Did the book fill some sort of void for the lonely, possibly sexually unsatisfied, woman? Or had the author really hit the nail on the head with the assumption that the majority of women fantasize about a man dominating them? See, I don't know about that one. Never fantasized about being treated like a slave, me. Perhaps it was a combination of all of these reasons; curiosity and wanting to know what the hype was about.
So along I went, to The Brixton Ritzi, armed with popcorn and sweets smuggled in from Iceland for 3/4 of the price sold for in the cinema, I was ready to be taken to the 50th Shade, ready to eat my soul to oblivion and beyond. Could this film arouse me? Intrigue me? What would the Shades be, I wondered - surely not just 50 shades of shagging? Bingo! That it was. 50 shades of; I fuck your brains out the way I want to. Not the way you want it, but the way I want it. Dang girl, you think yow little virgin ass had a say in this shizzle? Hell to the no, you mine, bend over, and make me a sandwich while you there.
The character Grey released his fantasy on his captive, his young, open-mouthed virgin who was ready to be dominated at all hours. 'Take me!' She near enough whimpered; 'I'm yours!' But are you Anna? Are you? He hasn't put a ring on it, and he took your bloody virginity, you held on to it until graduation - you were doing oh so well Anna, with your little fringe and 1970s wardrobe. He
probably gave you cystitis too with the pace he's pumping, and he didn't even put a ring on it. Tut, tut. What would our Beyonce say now? Poor little Anna, the leading lady, a romantic English Literate Graduate, who was probably dreaming of her Prince Charming, when she got a fucked up, sadist, sexual freak who wants to chain you up. Oh, Anna.
I can sympathies with the feminists who boycotted 50 Shades of Grey. It is an overtly sexist film. Actually, it is shockingly sexist. The ending of the film is somewhat disappointing as Anna is near enough abused and does not seem to be enjoying her man's fantasy. Do we really get to see 50 Shades of Grey? Do we see deep inside this character's soul? No. But we do see 50 Shades of Shagging, more shagging oh yes, and some Shagging! If you want to cop an eye-full get yourself down to the cinema today!
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