Fifty Shades of Shit

Today, when the Fragrant Missus and I came home from work, we discovered that two of the three didiots (that would be Nipper and Dieter specifically) had knocked over the garbage can. A week's worth of moldy food, used sanitary napkins, orange peels and egg shells littered the main floor from the kitchen to the front door. The smell was horrific. It was like Scooter had expressed his anal glands onto a bloated, week-old corpse covered in pig shit rotting under the relentless Saharan sun.

And it still smelled better than the trailer for Fifty Shades of Gray.

It's true that there are rare cases when a movie is made that surpasses the novel on which it is based. What Dreams May Come, for example. But, although I have never read the book (I refuse to dignify it with the appellation "novel"), I'm going to go out on a pretty sturdy limb here and say that this movie is going to be an excrescence.

How can it not? The material off of which it is working is pure, unadulterated shite. The writing is pedestrian, juvenile and completely predictable. In short, it is a literary Lincoln log. I am told that millions of women have read Fifty Shades of Grey and were titillated. Who are these millions of women? Who finds the story of an emotionally unavailable prick ("I control everything", "I don't do romance") performing BDSM on a naïve woman with obvious self-esteem issues exciting? Besides Laureen Harper, I mean.

In discussing the (inexplicable) popularity of the book with a friend, I was told that Fifty Shades of Grey was responsible for getting women to read again. This was said in the same solemn tone used to explain that J.K. Rowling got kids reading with her Harry Potter series (another book/books I haven't read. Sue me). Seriously? Women reading junk about exploitive abuse by some controlling jerk-off and clinging to that dysfunctional relationship in the belief that their devotion to that dick will prevail and he will eventually love them as they deserve: this is something to celebrate?  

No.

This review sums up beautifully why I think Fifty Shades of Grey is a dangerous and irresponsible book. And the fact that some money-grubbing douchebag has grasped the opportunity to wring still more cash out of this by making a film out of it simply fills me with despair. What the actual fuck, people? I understand that there is no accounting for taste--this is why Chevy Chase and Julia Roberts still have acting careers. (Christ on a cracker, don't get me started on Kevin Costner's Robin Hood or Love, Eat Pray. As far as I'm concerned, both of those productions can be classified as bona fide butt burritos.)

For the love of all that is holy, ladies, wake up and raise your standards! Do not waste your hard-earned (but not as high as a man's) wage on this rectal soup. And just as an aside here--is BDSM really that titillating anymore? Really? I mean, in an era of cakefarts,  pony play and bukaki, bondage and a riding crop seem just a little tame, dontcha think?

Next on Douchebaggery Abounds, my fucktard neighbours.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel: A Movie Review

When I saw the cast for this film, I thought, "Oh, this is just too good to be true: Dames Judi Dench and Maggie Smith? Together? Again? Like in A Room With View? It seems too good to be true."

And I can reassure you, this film is very, very good. The writing is excellent: compassionate without descending into sentimentality, showcasing a variety of personalities without caricature, in turns witty, insightful and elegant. Each of the performances are honestly and genuinely delivered: as with real, fully-realized people, the viewer likes some more than others, but they each stand out as individuals and not personas.

It is filmed beautifully also: India emerges as a tumult of noise and colour and furious life as well as a sacred and silent place. The only aspect missing is the smell.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is a story of seven British seniors who, for various personal reasons, leave Britain to take up residence in a hotel catering to "the elderly and the beautiful." They arrive to find the establishment, like themselves, a little ragged at the edges and not as pristine as advertised. Time and the elements have taken their toll on everyone, but each of the characters finds, if not what they were looking for, at least what they need. They, and the hotel, find new life and purpose.

It is a gentle and optimistic film. The sedate story-line (i.e. no guns or explosions) may fail to connect with a younger audience, but one leaves the theatre feeling as if one just experienced something authentic. I don't know about you, but I don't ever see guns and I'd flip if anything exploded nearby. On the other hand, I struggle constantly with a growing awareness of the finite time I have left on this earth and what "living" really means.

The only criticisms I have of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel are very minor. For one, I felt that Maggie Smith's character, revealed in the early part of the film as a racist, managed to overcome her long held prejudices rather easily. In my experience, it takes a long time to get past that, and the older one is, the more resistant one is to change. That's not to say it can't happen, though.

The other criticism I had was one I also had of The Help, a film whose subtitle might have been "Aren't White People Great?" Early on in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, one of the characters breathlessly reads in the brochure that the hotel offers an experience of the elegance and propserity of the Raj.

"Is that good?" another character asks.

Well, it certainly was a wonderful time for the British in India: it was a less delightful time for the Indians. And this film, told from the perspective of the British seniors, perpetuates the sterotype of the hapless, disorganized but good-hearted Indian (the hotel's proprietor) who only needs the guidance of the sage, civilized British to succeed. It is mildly patronizing, but given that the story is told with insight and humour, it is a minor criticism indeed.

See it. At best, you'll want to examine what you want to do with the time that remains to you. At the very least, you'll crave a curry afterwards!

And Now For Something Completely Different.

A review of Tim Burton's Dark Shadows, starring Johnny Depp, Michelle Pfieffer and Helena Bonham-Carter.

First off, I want to say that I am tired of seeing companies like Cenovus and Syncrude using the cinemas to spread their propaganda about how they're really the good guys, planting trees and doing all kinds of environmentally-friendly shit, when anyone who takes the merest effort to scratch the surface can learn about their flagrant disdain for government regulations and how cancer rates have soared in areas where they are working. Fuck you, assholes.

And onto the movie.

I want to state at the outset that I am a Tim Burton fan, and a Johnny Depp fan, and I've always really enjoyed Michelle Pfieffer and Helena Bonham-Carter is a goddess.

All that said, I was disappointed in this film.

None of the characters evolve: they remain precisely the same at the end of the movie as they began it. And while the individual performances are well done, with the expection of (Bella Heathcotte, the governess, who was adequate), and most of them are likeable to one degree or another, we search in vain for any development.

The film is shot through with all of Tim Burton's classic trademarks, such as the glowering skies, the rich dark atmouspheres of gothic history and gorgeous costuming (both 1700s and 1970s), what's missing from this project is good writing. The screenplay is frankly a little sloppy. (WARNING: major spoiler alert ahead!) The revelation about the werewolf was very clumsily delivered, the man-out-of-time humour got a little tired after awhile and Burton had characters, such as the old housekeeper, who showed up at key points and never got used. The house is burning down, and everyone gets out, except the old woman, who is conveniently forgotten.

Anyway, it's entertaining enough, but it isn't Burton or Depp's best work (although it's great to see Michelle Pfeiffer back on the screen). If you're an ardent fan, I suspect you will be disappointed, too, but it's entertaining enough once it arrives at the cheap theatres or on video.

And when I have more time, I'll describe the douchebaggery at the bar we went to AFTER the movie.