Film Review: Fifty Shades of Grey

‘Fifty Shades’ is caught between a book and a hard place.

Must.  Stare.  To.  Create.  Intense.  Chemistry!
Must. Stare. To. Create. Intense. Chemistry!

I sort of feel sorry for Francine Maisler, the casting director of Fifty Shades of Grey.  Francine was given an impossible task — to cast the role of Christian Grey with an actor whose every physical characteristic would accurately reflect the subjective sexual fantasies of millions of female (and male) readers.  100 million, to be more exact.  Once a Grey was found, the rest should’ve fallen more easily into place.  To the filmmakers credit, and to Maisler’s, the casting job is almost as good as it could’ve been.  Jamie Dornan makes for a sexy steely-eyed (see what I did there?) Christian Grey and Dakota Johnson makes for a very strong pretty-yet-plain Anastasia Steele.  Oh, but there’s one problem…they have to have great chemistry together in order to pull it off.  Oops.  Fifty Shades of Grey is not as bad as you may think or hope, and if you’re brave enough to refrain from poking fun of it to look cool, it’s not hard to notice some strong cinematic merits and a strong yet simply central plot with a lot of interesting potential.  Sadly, the lack of actor chemistry and the screenwriter’s loyalty to the book’s popularity sours the overall impact of the film, which, despite its effectiveness in pushing the boundaries of sex in a rated R film, should’ve had a stronger impact.

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Film Review: Nymphomaniac: Vol. II

Now on the beaten path.

"Thank you Sir, can I have another!?"
“Thank you sir, can I have another!?”

(Warning: ‘Volume I’ spoilers immediately ahead.)

Last we left Joe, she had just been broken down with the tragic realization that she couldn’t feel anything.  Her years of sexual escapades and experimentation had left her suddenly numb, cold, distant, and depressed…and this is the new Joe that we get to follow in Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac: Volume II, the second half of his sexual cinematic odyssey.  Needless to say, this sequel of sorts doesn’t live up to the emotional gravitas and observational humor of Volume I, instead settling for a few interesting thoughts but mostly von Trier’s penchant for gratuitous sexual violence and plenty of shock value.

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Film Review: Nymphomaniac: Vol. I

Viewer discretion not advised…if you’re a mature adult.

Sex Ed. -- the artsy way.
Sex education — sort of.

Let’s get this out of the way — Lars von Trier makes films that are explicit, controversial, and sad as f-ck!  Some consider them pornographic, others call them gratuitous, while others call them brilliant works of art.  All opinions are right because Lars von Trier’s films, above all else, invite endless interpretations, conflicting opinions, and discussions.  His newest film, Nymphomaniac: Vol. I, the first part of a 4+ hour film divided into two volumes, is actually the third and final part of the “Depression Trilogy”, which includes von Trier’s prior efforts Antichrist (2009) and Melancholia (2011).  These three films aren’t connected in the traditional sense of trilogies, that is to say, by story.  Rather, they are tonally and thematically intertwined, each one separately exploring the worlds of sex, depression, and the multiple forms of human tragedy.  Hooray! ...right?  As you can imagine, these films don’t lend themselves to much mainstream appeal.  In my humble critic’s opinion, they should.  Well, maybe not Antichrist.  But Nymphomaniac: Vol. I is a fascinating and well-rounded exploration of sexuality, identity, eroticism, youthful angst, and self-reflection, as told through a traditional biopic film structure, that invites personal introspection and a yearning to discuss these topics with others.

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