Tag Archives: 2015 Reviews

Rich and strange: Welcome to New York **1/2

October 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 4, 2015)

In my 2009 review of Tom Tykwer’s conspiracy thriller, The International, I observed:

The timing of the film’s release is interesting, in light of the current banking crisis and plethora of financial scandals. From what I understand, certain elements of the story are based on the B.C.C.I. scandal. I predict this will become the new trend in screen villains-the R. Allen Stanfords and Bernie Madoffs seem heaven-sent to replace Middle-Eastern terrorists as the newest Heavies du Jour in action thrillers. You can take that to the bank.

While it is not a “action thriller” per se, Abel Ferrara’s new film, Welcome to New York, is likewise “ripped from the headlines”, involves an evil banker, and agog with backroom deals and secret handshakes. More specifically, the film is based on the Dominique Strauss-Kahn scandal. In case you need a refresher, he was the fine fellow who was accused and indicted for an alleged sexual assault and attempted rape of a maid employed by the ritzy NYC hotel he was staying at during a 2011 business trip.

The case was dismissed after the maid’s credibility was brought into question (Strauss-Kahn later admitted in a TV interview that a liaison did occur, but denied any criminal wrongdoing). I’m sure that the fact that Strauss-Kahn happened to be head of the International Monetary Fund at the time (and a front-runner in France’s 2012 presidential race) had absolutely nothing to do with him traipsing out from the sordid affair smelling like a rose.

There’s no question that Bronx native Ferrara loves New York; nearly all of the two dozen or so films to his credit have been set in the Big Apple. And like many New Yorkers, Ferrara loves a parade, which is likely why he opens his new film with a veritable parade of high-priced call girls, rotating in and out of one particular NYC hotel room in cadres of three or four at a time. Their insatiable client is one Mr. Devereaux (Gerard Depardieu), a powerful international financier. Sweaty, wheezing and boorish, he’s nobody’s dream date, but the sad fact remains…money talks, bullshit walks (bringing to mind my favorite line from Swingers: “What do you drive?”).

Sometime after the revelries subside, a maid enters (thinking the room unoccupied), and encounters our apparently still frisky Mr. Devereaux, fresh from the shower. Ferrara cleverly (and thankfully) pulls away before we can bear witness to what happens next, but then devotes the remainder of the film dealing with the fallout.

This film left me feeling ambivalent; I think this is because the director seems ambivalent toward his subject. Not that a film inspired by a true story (especially one that so closely mirrors the actual events) is required to be didactic, or a morality play, but Ferrara has taken a hyper-realistic approach that can be stultifying at times.

Still, it was a pleasant surprise to see Jacqueline Bisset back on the big screen (as Devereaux’s long-suffering wife). She seems to have made a graceful transition into a full-blooded performer; while perennially easy on the eye, I always found her characterizations wooden-but she puts more “character” into her work nowadays.

It is interesting watching the hulking Depardieu wrestle with the motivations (and what passes as the “conscience”) of his Dostoevskian character. It doesn’t make this creep any more sympathetic, but it is a fearless late-career performance, as naked (literally and emotionally) as Brando was playing a similarly loathsome study in Last Tango in Paris (not to go so far as to say that Ferrara is quite in the same league as Bertolucci, mind you).

Behind the Music, Family Issues, Road Movie, Rock 'n' Roll

Alter cocker rocker: Danny Collins ***

October 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 4, 2015)

Al Pacino may be one of the finest actors of his generation, but he cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Now, if you can live with that, his new vehicle Danny Collins is likely to leave you with a smile on your face, and a song in your…well, erm…with a smile on your face.

Now picture Pacino as geriatric rock star Danny Collins. Danny, whose heyday was in the 1970s, still indulges in the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll lifestyle (though he’s beginning to look a bit peaked). He makes his grand entrance in a manner akin to the protagonist of the 2013 Italian film The Great Beauty (my review), feted by well-wishers and hangers-on at a wild and decadent birthday bash thrown in his honor. There is ample evidence that Danny has done well; judging by his opulent mansion, and his hot young trophy fiancée (currently shitfaced and passed out on the edge of the pool).

Yet, there is Something Missing. These nifty trappings came at a steep price…his Integrity (oh, the humanity). When Danny burst onto the scene back in the day, he was a gifted young singer-songwriter. But “gifted” doesn’t pay the bills. Eventually, he had a breakthrough hit, but it was a Neil Diamond-ish singalong he didn’t compose. So he went the way of Elvis; becoming more of a “showman” than an “artist”. He’s about to get the icing on this bittersweet cake. His longtime manager (Christopher Plummer) gifts him with a handwritten letter from John Lennon, praising Danny’s work and offering to mentor him. Here’s the rub: the 40 year-old note, sent c/o Danny’s first management, was never passed on to him; it was sold to a collector.

And so Danny’s game of “what if?” is afoot, and he hits the road sans the usual entourage (to the chagrin of his manager, who is anxious about Danny’s upcoming string of tour dates), in search of his long-lost Muse (ah, the luxuries of the creative class) What ensues is like Searching for Sugarman…in reverse. In that 2013 documentary, a film maker tracks down a talented American singer-songwriter who released two obscure LPs in the 70s, then dropped out of the biz. Unbeknownst to the artist, he had become a superstar in South America over the decades, based solely on the two LPs (with ignorance being bliss, he kept his integrity). Danny, on the other hand, knows he is a superstar, yet yearns to “find” and restore his integrity.

This is the directorial debut for Dan Fogelman, who also scripted. Despite some jarring tonal shifts, affable supporting performances from Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner and Bobby Cannavale, coupled with one of Pacino’s better turns of recent years, wins the day. It doesn’t hurt to have a bevy of great Lennon tunes on the soundtrack. And as long as Al doesn’t quit his day job, our ears remain safe.

Big Money, Drama, Great Depression

People they do bad things: Serena *1/2

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 28, 2015)

Off the rails: Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence in Serena

It’s a damn shame to see a good cast wasted. Such is the case with Danish director Susanne Bier’s curiously off-putting period melodrama Serena, which gets inextricably bogged down somewhere between torrid soap opera and watered-down Shakespearean tragedy. It appears Bier, despite having several acclaimed films to her credit (including 2011 Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film, In a Better World), may have nodded off at the wheel this time out.

The story is set during the Great Depression. Bradley Cooper stars as George Pemberton, a burgeoning lumber baron who is carving (well, more like chopping) out an empire from the rugged woodlands of North Carolina. Being one of the most eligible bachelors in the holler, George is ever on the lookout for a wife.

One day, while he’s out shootin’ at some food, he spots the eponymous protagonist/future missus (Jennifer Lawrence), who literally comes riding into frame on a white horse; confident, mysterious and purty as all get-out.

Serena, as it turns out, is no shrinking violet. In fact, she is so headstrong that George’s second-hand man (David Dencik) takes an immediate disliking to her, especially after she muscles her way into hubby’s business. She’s also a sociopath, which becomes apparent as she morphs into a backwoods Lady Macbeth.

The machinations that ensue in Christopher Kyle’s muddled screenplay (adapted from the 2008 novel by Ron Rash) are at once so underdeveloped and over-the-top that, coupled with the histrionic performances, the film just misses qualifying as an “instant camp classic” (Fifty Shades of Grey is the one to beat this year).

There are a few steamy, pseudo-explicit moments with Cooper and Lawrence that may make you sit up straight and pay attention, but as the bard himself said…two or three inspired hump scenes alone doth not a good melodrama make.

Culture Clash, Film Noir

Blu-ray reissue: Ride the Pink Horse ***1/2

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 28, 2015)

Ride the Pink Horse – Criterion Collection Blu-ray

If you prefer your dark tales of avarice and deception served up with style and atmosphere, I’m happy to report that Ride the Pink Horse, a nearly forgotten film noir gem, has just been reissued on Blu-ray by the Criterion Collection.

Previously unavailable for home viewing (save an occasional airing on TCM), the 1947 crime drama was the second directorial effort from actor Robert Montgomery (his debut, an adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe mystery Lady in the Lake, came out the same year). Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer adapted the screenplay from the 1946 book by Dorothy B. Hughes (Hughes also penned In a Lonely Place, the source novel for Nicholas Ray’s classic 1950 noir).

Montgomery casts himself as a poker-faced, no-nonsense customer named Gagin (no first name is ever mentioned). Gagin rolls into a sleepy New Mexico burg, where the locals are gearing up for an annual fiesta blowout. Gagin, however, has but one thing on his mind: putting the squeeze on the mobster (Fred Clark) who killed his best friend. Gagin’s plan is to hit this professional blackmailer where it’ll hurt him the most…in his wallet. Much to his chagrin, a wily G-man (Art Smith) already has his mark staked out…and has taken a pretty good educated guess as to what Gagin is up to.

The story becomes more psychologically complex once the insular Gagin unexpectedly develops a surrogate family bond with a bighearted carousel owner (Thomas Gomez, whose performance earned him an Oscar nomination for Best Actor in a Supporting Role) and a taciturn, semi-mystic Latina (Wanda Hendrix).

Ride the Pink Horse is unique in that it skirts several genres. In its most obvious guise, it fits right into the “disillusioned vet” sub-genre of the classic post-war noir cycle, alongside films like Act of Violence, Thieves’ Highway, The Blue Dahlia and High Wall. It also works as a character study, as well as a “fish out of water” culture-clash drama.

Montgomery skillfully mines the irony from the cultural contrasts in a manner uncannily presaging John Huston’s 1982 film adaptation of Malcom Lowry’s Under the Volcano (which, weirdly enough, was published in 1947, the same year that Ride the Pink Horse was released).

Criterion’s restored print really sparkles, highlighting Russell Metty’s atmospheric, beautifully composed cinematography. Extras include an insightful commentary track by two noir experts. Genre fans will not be disappointed.

Behind the Music, Documentary

9 to 5 at 45 RPM: The Wrecking Crew ***1/2

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 21, 2015)

Image result for wrecking crew in studio

Full disclosure: I originally saw The Wrecking Crew (the 2015 music documentary, not to be confused with the 1969 “Matt Helm” caper starring Dean Martin and Sharon Tate) four chords and seven years ago, when it played at the 2008 Seattle International Film Festival. Wrangling over music licensing has since kept this marvelous film in mothballs, but it is finally getting a proper “official” wide release.

“The Wrecking Crew” was a moniker given to an aggregation of crack L.A. session players who in essence created the distinctive pop “sound” that defined classic Top 40 from the late 50s through the mid-70s. With several notable exceptions (Glen Campbell, Leon Russell and Mac “Dr. John” Rebennack) their names remain obscure to the general public, even if the music they helped forge is forever burned into our collective neurons.

The film was a labor of love in every sense of the word for first-time director Denny Tedesco, whose late father was the guitarist extraordinaire Tommy Tedesco, a premier member of the team.

Tedesco traces origins of the Wrecking Crew, from participation in co-creating the legendary “Wall of Sound” of the early 60s (lorded over by mercurial pop savant Phil Spector) to collaborations with Brian Wilson (most notably, on the Beach Boys’ seminal Pet Sounds album) and backing sessions with just about any other popular artist of the era you could throw out there (Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, The Righteous Brothers, Henry Mancini, Ike & Tina Turner, The Monkees, The Association, Nancy Sinatra, The Fifth Dimension, The Byrds, Sonny & Cher, Petula Clark, The Mamas and the Papas, Frank Zappa, etc.). Not to mention myriad TV themes and movie soundtracks.

Tedesco has curated fascinating vintage studio footage, as well as archival and present day interviews with key players. You also hear from some of the producers (Herb Alpert, Lou Adler and Jack Nitzsche) who utilized their talents. Tedesco assembled a group of surviving members to swap anecdotes (and as you can imagine, they have got some great stories to tell).

One of my favorite reminiscences concerned the earliest recording sessions for The Monkees. An apparently uninformed Peter Tork showed up in the studio, guitar in hand-and was greeted by a roomful of bemused session players, giving him a “WTF are YOU doing here?!” look before he slunk away in embarrassment.

One of the revelations in the film is bass player/guitarist Carol Kaye, a quietly unassuming pioneer who commanded a lot of respect in a traditionally male-dominated niche of the music industry. In a great scene, she modestly demonstrates a few signature bass lines that you may have heard once or twice; the opening riffs for “The Beat Goes On”, “California Girls”, the “Mission Impossible Theme”, even that subtle 5 note run that opens Glen Campbell’s “Wichita Lineman”.

The documentary’s scene stealer is Hal Blaine, who may be the most recorded drummer in the history of pop music. Blaine was in attendance at the SIFF screening I caught in 2008, and did a Q & A along with the director after the film. I remember him telling the audience that he was then in the midst of compiling his discography ; he said so far they had been able to annotate “only” about 5,000 sessions (some estimates top the 10,000 mark). Blaine tells colorful and hilarious stories; he reminds me of another droll musician-raconteur…Pete Barbuti (who never failed to put me on the floor in his many appearances on The Tonight Show throughout the 1970s).

Tedesco’s film makes a nice companion to the 2003 doc Standing in the Shadows of Motown, which profiled another group of hitherto unheralded session players (aka the “Funk Brothers”) who backed nearly every Motown hit. I know that some people look down their nose at this “lunch pail” approach to creating music, but there is no denying the chops that these players bring to the table, and I say more power to ‘em, myself. Tedesco’s film is a joyous celebration of a unique era of popular art that (love it or loathe it), literally provided the “soundtrack of our lives” for some of us of a (ahem) certain age.

OK, since I brought him up…here’s my favorite Pete Barbuti bit:

Action, Corporate Intrigue, Dystopian, Sci-Fi

I bling the body electric: Chappie ***

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 7, 2015)

The mathematician/cryptologist I.J. Good (an Alan Turing associate) once famously postulated:

Let an ultra-intelligent machine be defined as a machine that can far surpass all the intellectual activities of any man…however clever. Since the design of machines is one of these intellectual activities, an ultra-intelligent machine could design even better machines; there would then unquestionably be an ‘intelligence explosion’, and the intelligence of man would be left far behind. Thus, the first ultra-intelligent machine is the last invention that man need ever make, provided that the machine is docile enough to tell us how to keep it under control.

Good raised this warning in 1965, about the same time director Stanley Kubrick and sci-fi writer Arthur C. Clarke were formulating the narrative that would evolve into both the novel and film versions of 2001: a Space Odyssey. And it’s no coincidence that the “heavy” in 2001 was an ultra-intelligent machine that wreaks havoc once its human overseers lose “control” …Good was a consultant on the film.

While the “A-I gone awry” prototype dates as far back as the metallic “Maria” in the 1927 silent Metropolis, it was “HAL 9000” that took techno-phobia to a new level, spawning a sci-fi film sub-genre that includes The Demon Seed, Colossus: The Forbin Project, Blade Runner, The Terminator, Robocop, I, Robot, and (of course) A.I. Artificial Intelligence.

There are echoes of all the aforementioned (plus a large orange soda) in Chappie, the third feature film from South African writer-director Neill Blomkamp. In this outing, Blomkamp returns to his native Johannesburg (which provided the backdrop for his 2009 debut, District 9). And for the third time in a row, his story takes place in a near-future dystopia (call me Sherlock, but I’m sensing a theme).

Johannesburg is a crime-riddled hellhole, ruled by ultra-violent drug lords and roving gangs of thugs. The streets are so dangerous that the police department is reticent to put officers on the front lines. So they do what any self-respecting police department of a near-future dystopia does…they send droids out to apprehend criminals.

The popularity of these programmable robocops has created lucrative contracts for Tetravaal, the company which employs mild-mannered designer Deon (Dev Patel). In his spare time, Deon has been working on an A.I. chip that approximates “consciousness”.

Jacked on Red Bull, Deon pulls an all-niter and makes his breakthrough. Excited, Deon approaches Tetravaal’s CEO (Sigourney Weaver) with a proposal to work up a prototype. Unfortunately, she doesn’t share his vision, and Deon is laughed out of her office. Who needs a police droid with “feelings”, right?

Determined to carry out his experiment, he re-appropriates a damaged droid scheduled for destruction. Before he can make it safely home, he is carjacked and abducted by a trio of inept gang bangers (Ninja, Yolandi Visser, and Jose Pablo Cantillo) who figure they can coerce Deon into securing them a remote control that shuts down police droids (they are only speculating such a device exists).

What they do end up with is a droid with self-awareness, and the ability to absorb and mimic human behavior. Will he “grow up” as the enlightened being that his Gepetto-like creator intended, or will he turn into the “gangsta” that his thug “Daddy” wants him to be?

Through their creation of the character “Chappie”, Blomkamp and co-writer Terri Tatchell have managed to put a fresh spin on a well-worn trope. When you cut through all the obligatory action tropes, “his” story resonates at its core with a universal, timeless appeal. The film has more in common with Oliver Twist than with Robocop. Chappie is, by definition of his inception, an “orphan”; innocent and pure of heart. The child-like droid is shuffled by fate into the thug life, where he is tutored in street smarts and criminal behavior by “Ninja”, who plays Fagin to his Oliver (on one level, Blomkamp and Tatchell are exploring the “nature vs nurture” theme).

This is a return to form for the director, especially after his slightly disappointing sophomore effort Elysium. I really got a kick out of the performances, especially the scene-stealing Ninja and Visser, who are slumming from their day job as rap outfit Die Antwoord (apparently popular with the “zef” crowd…I’ll let you look that up, like grandpa had to prepping this review). Hugh Jackman hams it up as a heavy, and Blomkamp’s favorite leading man Sharlto Copley does a marvelous job breathing “life” and personality into Chappie (move over, Andy Serkis). BTW, despite my references to Pinocchio and David Copperfield, this one is definitely not for the kids; it’s rated ‘R’ .

On Pop Culture, Tribute

The beginning of wisdom: What I learned from Mr. Spock

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 28, 2015)

In my review of J.J. Abrams’ 2009 reboot of the Star Trek movie franchise, I wrote:

Gene Roddenberry’s universally beloved creation has become so ingrained into our pop culture and the collective subconscious of Boomers […] that the producers of the latest installment didn’t have to entitle it with a qualifier. It’s not Star Trek: Origins, or Star Trek: 2009. It’s just Star Trek. They could have just as well called it Free Beer, judging from the $80,000,000 it has rung up at the box office already.

This likely explains the prodigious outpouring of sentiment regarding Leonard Nimoy’s passing. And this is not emanating solely from the geekier sectors of the blogosphere, but from such bastions of traditional journalism as The New York Times, which duly noted:

His artistic pursuits — poetry, photography and music in addition to acting — ranged far beyond the United Federation of Planets, but it was as Mr. Spock that Mr. Nimoy became a folk hero, bringing to life one of the most indelible characters of the last half century: a cerebral, unflappable, pointy-eared Vulcan with a signature salute and blessing: “Live long and prosper”.

Of course, my “logical” half is well aware that this “unflappable, pointy-eared Vulcan” was a fictional creation, in reality a nice Jewish boy from Boston (“Lenny” to his friends) who was only playing a half-human, half-alien science officer on a silly sci-fi TV show.

By all accounts, Nimoy was an engaging and generous human being, who devoted off-screen time to various progressive political and social causes. Fellow Star Trek alumnus George Takei offered touching insight on this aspect in an MSNBC interview earlier this week.

But back to the pointy-eared gentleman, an early and critical role model for me as a child. Keep in mind, at the time of the TV show’s initial run (1966), I was all of 10 years old. Also, note that I was kind of a weird 10 year-old. I wasn’t that keen on hanging out with kids my age; I always had an easier time relating to elders (my best friend at the time was 13).

To me, children were silly, immature creatures; I generally found their behavior to be quite “illogical” (believe me…it took years to de-evolve into the silly man-child I am today; to quote Bob Dylan, “ I was much older then, I’m younger than that now”).

While many of my little friends thought he was the shit, cocky Captain Kirk never did it for me (I’ve always had an issue with authority figures, not to mention that whole alpha male thing).

But I could relate to Mr. Spock. I think he appealed to my own sense of “otherness”. Also, like Mr. Spock, I’m a “halfsie” (my parents might as well have been from different planets-a Jewish girl from Brooklyn and a Protestant farm boy from Ohio).

But that’s my personal take. I think Spock’s mass appeal stems from a universal recognition of the inherent duality within us all. When it comes to love and war, the constant vacillation between our logical and emotional selves is the very definition of human nature, nest’-ce pas?

This is best demonstrated by the very human Mr. Nimoy himself, who once decried “I am not Spock” in his eponymous 1975 autobiography, only to recant that, oh, wait… “I am Spock” with his follow-up memoir 20 years on.

Perhaps he’d had time to ponder something his own character once said: “Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end.” And, as it does to us all, this one particular epiphany came tagging along with age, finally presenting itself in the fullness of time: We are all Spock.

Drama

Gidget goes submissive: Fifty Shades of Grey *1/2

September 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 14, 2015)

Fifty Shades of Grey: Makes 2 hours feel like 9 1/2 Weeks

Fifty Shades of Grey is either the most cleverly arch soft core porn parody of all time, or…they were trying to be serious. Hang on (with apologies to Jon Stewart), I’m receiving word that yes, they actually were trying to be serious. Oh…and I understand that it was apparently based on a novel, which I’m being told has done well with sales. I haven’t read the book, but if it is a virtually plotless, kinky sex fantasy that is curiously devoid of any kinkiness or sexiness, then I’m here to tell you that this is one film that’s faithful to the book.

It’s your typical tale of a virginal English Lit major named Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) who meets cute with a hunky (and mysterious) Seattle-based 27 year-old bachelor billionaire businessman named Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan). And it’s like, you know, total kismet. Anastasia is a last-minute fill-in for her roommate Kate (Eloise Mumford), who was supposed to conduct an in-person interview with Mr. Grey at his corporate HQ for their college newspaper…but she got the flu (or something).

So anyway, Anastasia’s all like, you know, rolling her eyes and junk, but OK, she’ll do it, because she’s a good friend. Soon she is in Mr. Grey’s lofty, spacious and impressively appointed executive office, rattling off probing questions like “Are you gay?” from her roommate’s notes.

Faster than you can say “porn movie exposition”, Anastasia and Christian begin to display signs of Mutual Attraction. Mere days pass, and before Anastasia knows what hit her, Christian is handing her a contract for her to review and sign. You know, one of those contracts wherein the First Party (the Submissive) agrees to all the terms dictated by the Second Party (the Dominant), which are, to wit, Abandon all Hope, Ye Who Enter Here…and to cater to every sexual whim of her dominant male master.

Some intriguing avenues pop up, but are not explored. For instance, there’s a glimmer of Hitchcock’s Marnie in Christian; a tormented, sexually dysfunctional character who hints at possible trauma earlier in life that has left him incapable of affection and love. Instead, he remains a cardboard figure, with no sense of depth or backstory after we learn early on that He’s Mysterious (Dornan’s one-note performance, which vacillates somewhere between catatonic and Ben Stiller’s “blue steel” look from Zoolander, doesn’t help).

To her credit, Johnson (an oddly endearing morph of Zooey Deschanel and Charlotte Gainsbourg) gives a palpable impression she’s having fun with her character, occasionally rising above Kelly Marcel’s insipid script, especially in a scene where Anastasia calls a “business meeting” with Christian to negotiate contract terms (‘Anal fisting’? That’s right out…and what exactly is a ‘butt plug’?). If the film had been intended as parody, that scene would be comedy gold.

But alas, the film is neither comedy, nor is it drama. Nor is it particularly kinky (despite the lovingly fetishistic camera pans of the accouterments that supplement Christian’s “play room”). Most notably, it’s not in the least bit sexy. In fact, it barely qualifies as soft core; it’s about as erotic as a TV ad for Viagra. Despite the intrinsically provocative nature of its SM theme, the film comes off as weirdly sanitized (it might as well be a remake of Beach Blanket Bingo).

While it lightly flirts with gender politics (who’s really in control of the relationship?) it is not making any discernible political statement (like the similar but far superior 2002 film, Secretary, or going back further-Swept Away or The Night Porter). The end result is a total wash. There’s no “there” there. The film is its own 51^st shade of grey. I’m reticent to lay blame at the feet of director Sam Taylor-Johnson, as I admired her debut film Nowhere Boy, but the buck has to stop somewhere.

I’m all for suspending my disbelief when I sit down to watch a narrative film (even a film that is somewhat devoid of a narrative…like this one, for example). But if you present me with a protagonist like Anastasia, who appears to be a literate, college-educated young woman with a strong sense of self, and then ask me to believe that she would miss so many red flags on the way to falling head over heels for a creepy sexual predator like Christian Grey? Not buying it for a second. Red flags, you ask? What about sweet talk like this: “I’d like to bite that lip. But I’m not touching you until I have written consent.” Or “I don’t do love.” Or “I don’t ‘make love’…I fuck.” (How dreamy! Betcha he says that to all the girls).

Not to mention the stalking behavior. Or the fact that he recoils from any attempt by Anastasia to express affection. Maybe I shouldn’t get so worked up; after all, who’s going to buy this premise anyway, in our modern, feminism-enlightened society? Wait a sec…now I’m being told that millions of people (the majority of them women) have literally bought into it…with 70 million copies of E.L. James’ books sold worldwide, record-breaking pre-sales of nearly 3 million movie tickets.

So perhaps at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter whether this film is “good” or “bad”. Maybe it’s just one of those critic-proof “event” movies, so hotly anticipated that it comes out of the box robed by a protective cocoon of cultist devotees who will not be swayed by the nattering nabobs of negativism like Yours Truly.

After all, it’s only a movie. But it still begs the question: Why this film, with its weirdly draconian subtexts…and why now? Aren’t there enough stories on CNN about hostage-taking, torture and suffering (and lest we forget, ongoing systemic oppression of women around the world) to turn people off to the idea of hitching their star to an erotic fantasy about willingly signing up for this kind of shit?

Or am I overthinking again?