Last night I sat sandwiched between rows of like-minded women to see Fifty Shades Darker, the second cinematic attempt to interpret the E.L. James hit erotica book trilogy. I think we in that audience will all agree that the movie reviewers–mostly men–are full of it when it comes to reviewing such a film. They didn’t like it. We seemed to.
The problem with trying to accomplish a good movie with erotica in it, like trying to accomplish anything erotic, is that we try too damn hard to make it what it’s not.
Let’s face it: about ninety percent of us do not have the womanly charms of Dakota Johnson or the hunky mannerisms of Jamie Dornan; we’re lucky if we look decent after an hour in the mirror every morning (after much less than the recommended eight hours of sleep), and they have makeup people and wardrobe people and don’t have an hour commute or a cubicle to work in.
Add to that all the camera angles and the censorship–oh good grief, the censorship–and the crew members hovering overhead and the sets that are lit too hot or cooled down too much, and it’s only romantic when the editing is done. Or in the case of a movie which features BDSM practices toned down for an R rating, it only gets away with not being called pornographic when the editing is done.
Lovemaking can’t be edited. It just happens. It’s awkward and time-consuming and primal and messy. That’s why many movie scenes cut to the future, long after the bumping and grinding is over and forgotten. The reviewers seem to have a problem with lovemaking that’s a tad more spicy. Maybe they’re jealous.
Also, the reviewers appeared to think that the chemistry between the characters wasn’t hot enough. Maybe a mushy relationship would not have made a good movie, or maybe if they were too hot for each other, the filming may have been too pornographic. How tough it must be to be a married couple working on a film together; separating the script from reality takes a true performance from both of them.
The movie is not that bad. It’s not everybody’s idea of a bedroom rendezvous, but it’s what we, as moviegoers in this age, are allowed to have in terms of what the MPAA says. The perfect love movie has yet to be made, but we have enough future Valentine’s Days to work on it. Maybe it will be rated G: after all, love does not require sex, does it?
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