Rosie Waterland expected the whole movie to be a bit of a cheesy laugh. Instead she walked out of the cinema on the verge of tears.
I walked into the premiere screening of Fifty Shades of Grey last night planning to walk out with a bunch of ridiculous and funny material that would lead to a hilarious recap. Instead, I walked out of the cinema on the verge of tears.
I’m really, really sorry you guys. I know I made a big deal yesterday about how I was going to write a ‘totes-hilare’ review. I obnoxiously posted pics from the red carpet and tweeted in all caps at the first sighting of pubes.
But I screwed up. I screwed up big time. I went into this film thinking it would be two hours of B-grade hilarity about bondage that I could make fun of. It was actually two hours of incredibly disturbing content about an emotionally abusive relationship that left me really, really shaken.
And now I’m embarrassed that I ever joked about it.
I haven’t read any of the Fifty Shades books, so I went into last night’s screening cold. I think that was the problem. The phenomenon has only ever been on the periphery of my care-factor zone. I honestly thought the story was just about a young, sexually inexperienced woman, who meets a slightly older, extremely sexually experienced man, and he teaches her everything she needs to know in three books of clit-tingling sex-scenes.