REVIEW: Fifty Shades of Grey

13 02 2015

“Fifty Shades of Grey” boasts a killer soundtrack of catchy pop tunes from some top artists – Beyoncé, Ellie Goulding, Sia – to spruce up what might otherwise be boring, forgettable montages.  But while I watched the dominant sadomasochist Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) attempt to lure the innocent, virginal Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) into a contract as his submissive, another song kept playing in my head.

Here’s an excerpt from that song, “Never Learn Not To Love” by The Beach Boys.

“Cease to resist, come on say you love me
Give up your world, come on and be with me
I’m your kind, I’m your kind, and I see

Submission is a gift given to another
Love and understanding is for one another
I’m your kind, I’m your kind, and I see”

The surfing rock group makes those lyrics sound pleasant, even romantic.  But they become rather frightening when considering who they essentially plagiarized the song from: Charles Manson.

There’s something decidedly demented (or, dare I say, “Haunted” like the Beyoncé track from the film) about Grey’s psychology.  He pulls heavily from pimp logic, the same rationale Manson used to lure and maintain his followers.  Grey obsesses over making Anastasia sign a contract that allows him free license, within mutually agreeable bounds, to exploit her endlessly for the purposes of whetting his niche sexual appetites.  He gets pleasure, while she gets an odd mixture of fear and love.  (Seems like a rather uneven balance of power, but I’m single – so what do I know?)

Getting her John Hancock serves as the conflict and obstacle that keeps the thin plot of “Fifty Shades of Grey” going, although there is a compelling case that the one-upmanship of the successive sex scenes is what really keeps the interest in an otherwise standard-issue “romance.”  Those just watching for skin should not even bother tuning in until the 45 minute mark, when the conventional courtship tale switches gears into the kind of soft-core porn film that plays around midnight on HBO.

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REVIEW: Nowhere Boy

19 06 2013

Layout 1Everyone loves the Beatles, right?  Well, just because you love the Beatles does not mean you will automatically love director Sam Taylor-Johnson’s “Nowhere Boy,” a chronicle of John Lennon’s formative years.

Maybe my view was tainted because I’m not a Lennon or Beatles obsessive.  I know the basics, your “Imagine” from his solo career and chart-toppers like “Hey Jude” and “All You Need Is Love.”  But I really haven’t invested much time in learning their history or going beyond the Beatles songs that everyone knows before they are aware that they know it.

So perhaps a Beatles neophyte fan such as myself missed some of the Easter Egg-style references.  I caught a few of the blatant ones, but I still felt like I was missing something watching the movie.

I will tell you what I did not miss in “Nowhere Boy.”  I definitely caught the lackluster performance of Aaron Johnson as Lennon, who has a way of sucking the life out of every movie he’s in, be it “Savages” or “Anna Karenina.”  I absolutely noticed the lack of compelling drama, be it between his aunt who raised him (a nonetheless good Kristin Scott Thomas) and his biological mother (Anne-Marie Duff).  I did, however, also hear some good music that kept my ears happy while the same could not be said for my eyes and my mind.  C / 2stars


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