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Fifty Shades just a big snoregasm.

Byline: JOE LINDSAY

2 015, the year of significant cultural events - the publishing of the previously unheard of "sequel" to Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird, a new Star Wars film that has wrestled George Lucas from the director's chair, and probably the most important literary and cinematic event in the last decade, Fifty Shades Of Grey. I jest.

The multi-million selling book, the anticipation of the screen adaptation, the endless debates on fan sites and in women's magazines about who should be cast as Mr Grey, the delight that Jamie "arr Jamie" Dornan got the gig!

Well, a few others had got it and walked beforehand, but never mind that it's finally starting tonight.

A modern erotic hit, the Harry Potter of porn, bringing smut to a mainstream too shy to buy naughty mags, unlocking the mental chastity belts, written by a woman and brought to the screen by a woman, a great leap for feminism.

Well, not really... much like its inevitable comparison films, 91/2 Weeks and Secretary, it is really about the man in the scenario.

Grey plays the main role, he is an emancipator of experimentation for Anastasia Steele. Before we proceed, let's talk about that name.

Anastasia Steele. A hideous, naff amalgamation of Russian royalty and misty-lens romance-novel royalty.

If you threw two darts at a bookshelf you could come up with better yourself. And there is probably a sex toy called Anastasia Steele by now, isn't there? When the film trailer went online and was shown in cinemas, social media responded with its usual OMG!! enthusiasm.

A flurry of drooling appreciation for Jamie and girls' nights out organised with military-style efficiency.

Never have I used the "mute" and "unfollow" options as much in one week.

Look I really don't care what people do with their disposable income and hey, whatever gets you through the night, you shine on you crazy diamond.

But let's not be blinded from the obvious. If an average bloke in a bad suit with a pocket full of cable ties told you his intentions in a bar, you'd (hopefully) run a mile.

It was bad enough when The Fall was on and tragically I saw numerous females state online how they wouldn't mind Jamie Dornan breaking into their bedrooms.

His character sexually attacked and killed women. I'm not missing the distinction between character and actor but... ya know what I mean.

And now back to Christian Grey. Why is it, in mainstream films of this nature, the man is the Sex Columbus for the female characters? Is the message here that women need a man to help them explore their sexuality and until they meet this kinky wizard, they are destined to remain an unfulfilled wallflower, forever locked in a world of special occasion sex and snoregasm? What nonsense that is. And to be fair, that comes across in the trailer.

Bear in mind they are supposed to sell a movie without revealing too much. The ultimate tease. And boy, for a film about adventurous sex, it is crushingly dull.

Washed-out greys and blues, big ponderous music, a truly awful Beyonce cover, Dornan and Dakota Johnson displaying performances that aren't so much filled with sexual promise and intensity but two actors trying hard not to laugh and indeed hoping this doesn't kill their career.

It probably won't. No matter how bad the film turns out to be it will still take a fortune at the box office.

The books got savaged by critics yet sold in their millions. Ann Summers will probably do quite well out of it as well - and the cable tie section of B&Q. But I can't help feeling we won't.

Remember, there are probably scores of great films that didn't get made to fund this.

No matter how bad, it will rake in millions
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Title Annotation:Editorial; Opinion Columns
Publication:The Mirror (London, England)
Article Type:Editorial
Date:Feb 13, 2015
Words:640
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