One of those moments was the press event for the movie version of the schlock-erotica novel “50 Shades of Grey,” which comes out this weekend to drip all over the feast day of St. Valentine (which can barely be found underneath the mounds of flowers, chocolates, overpriced jewelry and giant teddy bears already heaped on it).
To quote Defamer (and this may be a first in a Catholic blog):
Let’s undertake a thought experiment. Imagine that—rather than paper and ink—each of those books were composed of: a look of unabashed contempt; a single embittered sigh; an explicit request that audiences not see the film adaptation of 50 Shades of Grey, vocalized by one of the movie’s main stars. Imagine one hundred million pained expressions, one hundred million eyes rolled, one hundred million uncomfortable pauses that peter out into one hundred million dead silences.
You have imagined the press tour for the upcoming film 50 Shades of Grey—by now firmly established as among the most disastrous of the past decade, if not so far this century.
The most glaring problem with the press blitz—currently several months underway, though the film will not be released for another two weeks—is also the most damning for the upcoming film: Simply put, romantic leads Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan do not like each other. They dislike other things as well—the press; sex; the film in which they are starring—but it is clear their distaste for each other is the most keenly felt of all.
Reading that, my soul overflowed with joy. Forget the sex toys next to the kids’ toothbrushes and blenders at Target; forget the Vermont Teddy Bear version of sexually twisted businessman Christian Grey, complete with blindfold and handcuffs — the two stars of this movie suffered while making it.
Defamer also quotes things that Dornan said in the Jan. 30, 2015, issue of Glamour magazine, such as:
Some of the Red Room stuff was uncomfortable. There were times when Dakota was not wearing much, and I had to do stuff to her that I’d never choose to do to a woman.
(Unless you’re getting paid a pile of cash to pretend to do it in a movie, of course.)
The first day [of filming] was kind of an out-of-body experience. I got there and they said, ‘Action!’ I’m like, ‘What the f*** is happening? I’m a dad. What?’
(Going to screen this for the kid when she hits puberty? Yes, it’s a daughter. When she’s college-age, I wonder if her father hopes she meets up with a bondage fetishist with his own helicopter.)
Making it even better, Dornan’s grandparents were Methodist lay preachers, and he went to Methodist College in Belfast, Northern Ireland.
And, of course, author E.L. James named the main character “Christian.”
Odds are good the next two books in the trilogy will also become movies. I can only hope that Dornan and Johnson enjoy each other’s company, and have just as much fun making those films, as they did making this one.
Light a candle for these poor souls; I have a feeling they’re going to need it.