Fifty shades of anticipation

Ever since it was announced that there would be a movie made from the popular book, fans of Fifty Shades of Grey have been in impatient and fevered anticipation of its release. Now the fever has broken. The movie is in the theaters just in time for Valentine's Day and its millions of fans, as well as the merely curious, are filling up those theaters.

It really makes no difference, I think, whether the movie is any good. Based on all the reviews that I've seen of it so far, it is very far from good. But then it makes no difference what the reviewers write either. Its fans will not be swayed by movie reviews any more than they were swayed by book reviews.

To be honest, I still haven't read the book. I couldn't make myself do it, not even in the name of scientific curiosity. I am a constant reader, but I try to limit myself to books that I believe I will have a reasonable chance to enjoy. A book about bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism and masochism didn't seem like it would meet that test. The movie, starring two people I've never heard of and directed by a third person I've never heard of, interests me even less.

The producers will never miss me. I predict the movie will make a mint for everyone involved, just as the books in the (now) trilogy have. It seems about as close to bullet-proof as you can get in the entertainment world.

Sex sells and it seems that nothing sells better than BDSM sex. Why is that I wonder? What is it about the idea of pain and humiliation during sex that turns some people - a lot of people it seems - on?

You probably know the basics of this story, even if you haven't read the books or seen the movie. It started as a bit of Twilight fan fiction in which a fabulously wealthy man enamored of some very kinky sex sweeps a poor, virginal, naive, in fact utterly clueless girl off her feet. It is Cinderella with floggers and butt plugs.

The thing about all that kinky sex though, in the book and in the movie, from what I've read and heard, is that it is never consensual. It is something that Christian Grey forces upon virginal Anastasia and something she submits to because she wants him - not because she truly enjoys it or wants to do it. That millions of women fans get off on reading about and watching another woman forced into what is for her a painful relationship probably says a lot about the psychology of those fans, but I'm not sure I want to know what it is.

In his review of the movie, A.O. Scott of the Times begins:

At the end of a recent New York sneak preview of “Fifty Shades of Grey” — in the blackout between the final lines of dialogue (“Anastasia!” “Christian!”) and the first breathy notes of the last Beyoncé song — a lot of the audience burst out laughing. The source of that laughter continues to puzzle and intrigue me, perhaps more than the actual movie did. Was it delight? Derision? Embarrassment? Surprise? All of the above?
The last answer seems the most likely...

A few hundred words later, he ends the review thusly:

Why do so many women read these novels, even though they have no literary value? I’m no expert, but I can venture a guess: for fun. They seem to be the kind of books you can simultaneously have fun with, make fun of, trash and cherish and adapt to the pursuit of your own pleasures. Which brings me back to the laughter at the end of the sneak preview. “Fifty Shades of Grey” might not be a good movie — O.K., it’s a terrible movie — but it might nonetheless be a movie that feels good to see, whether you squirm or giggle or roll your eyes or just sit still and take your punishment.

And maybe he's on to something. Its fans - and probably its haters as well - see it as a bit of fun, something they can adapt to the pursuit of their own pleasures. Does it mean they are going to rush out and buy their own whips, handcuffs, and butt plugs? Well, maybe, or maybe they just want to marvel at those who do. Either way, it's something they've adapted to give them pleasure. Perhaps that is not actually the end of civilization as we know it.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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