"Fifty Shades of Grey" is based on a badly written book, so why someone thought they could make a decent film out of it is beyond me. Actually I don't think anyone believed they could make a good film, the producers just wanted the money that would come in from all people who for reasons known only to themselves read the book.
I had a free ticket and I had to go in order to do a story on it. Bottom line, I'm not doing a story on it.
Okay, here's the problem, and this is what breaks my heart. We no longer know what good or great is. I am no follower of Ayn Rand, but in The Fountainhead, she predicted the rise of mediocrity, mediocrity being considered great and the norm we shoot for. It only stands to reason that at this point, some things can't even rise to that sad level. This isn't mediocre, it's pathetic. I can't believe there are people complimenting the actors. But then I can, because they have come to accept mediocrity. Something I fight against with all my heart.
There is one other problem. The book sucked; in order to like it, one had to use his or her imagination. The success of this book lay in the fantasy aspect. Sometimes imagination is more powerful than just about anything and can give you an erotic experience. This film doesn't fulfill the most inane imagination, let alone someone who really has a wild and creative one. The only fantasy it can give you is how fast you can get out of the theater.
There were people around me laughing. The ones who weren't left, and from what I found out in the lobby, actually demanded and got their money back. When was the last time you saw people leaving a movie in the middle? I'm not sure I've ever seen it, and I'll guess I've been going to movies longer than a lot of you.
I lament the loss of artistic soul, of creativity, of going for the best. I miss the days when Billy Wilder was a writer and a filmmaker. What are we left with but a horrible book written on a first grade level and the resulting bad movie.
I had a free ticket and I had to go in order to do a story on it. Bottom line, I'm not doing a story on it.
Okay, here's the problem, and this is what breaks my heart. We no longer know what good or great is. I am no follower of Ayn Rand, but in The Fountainhead, she predicted the rise of mediocrity, mediocrity being considered great and the norm we shoot for. It only stands to reason that at this point, some things can't even rise to that sad level. This isn't mediocre, it's pathetic. I can't believe there are people complimenting the actors. But then I can, because they have come to accept mediocrity. Something I fight against with all my heart.
There is one other problem. The book sucked; in order to like it, one had to use his or her imagination. The success of this book lay in the fantasy aspect. Sometimes imagination is more powerful than just about anything and can give you an erotic experience. This film doesn't fulfill the most inane imagination, let alone someone who really has a wild and creative one. The only fantasy it can give you is how fast you can get out of the theater.
There were people around me laughing. The ones who weren't left, and from what I found out in the lobby, actually demanded and got their money back. When was the last time you saw people leaving a movie in the middle? I'm not sure I've ever seen it, and I'll guess I've been going to movies longer than a lot of you.
I lament the loss of artistic soul, of creativity, of going for the best. I miss the days when Billy Wilder was a writer and a filmmaker. What are we left with but a horrible book written on a first grade level and the resulting bad movie.