Did you think I was kidding? |
The kids are far away this year but have
acknowledged the day to my satisfaction. Since, they claim, there was no groupon for a gilded sedan chair carried by six
brawny New York City fireman (am I
right, ladies?) wearing only their water proof over-alls to carry me around the house all day, we made
do with phone calls and lovely flowers.
That, however, does not fill a day.
Especially one where women all over America are being rushed
through rigidly enforced “seatings” and eating rubbery chicken marsala in
crowded restaurants. Sigh…that actually
sounds really good to me.
Of course there is laundry and the litter box is a bit ripe
in the mid-May warmth but the rule is that mothers are forbidden to perform unpleasant
chores such as cooking, dishes and, especially, scooping cat poop. Also, Seth
is out doing “stuff” which I suspect is husband-speak for “Quit pouting and stop drunk dialing the kids.” So I am alone.
With the TV.
That means but one thing: watch something Seth would never
choose to see.
That might mean a frothy rom-com or one of those shows that chronicles
the early weeks of a litter of kittens. For those who aren’t seasoned veterans
of the remote control, those shows do
exist…and I meow them. But, today, there is no room for cuteness. There is only
room for one thing--pull down the shades with me, America: we are watching
“Fifty Shades of Grey.”
The movie, for those of you who have been hiding under a
sedan chair or simply choose to live a life out of the gutter, is a clever
idea: an actual love story cloaked in the extremity of black leather and
chains.
Exploring a menu of sexual dominance and submission was the vehicle which made this routine tale a boffo best seller, first in the form of a trilogy of books -- which are little more than horrible writing punctuated by what, essentially, is porn -- and today’s movie.
It also made the writer, E. L. James, rich beyond measure. I
have yet to stop asking myself why I didn’t think of this approach first. Ms.
James says the idea came to her in a dream.
I only dream that I’m running
through the darkened halls of my high school wearing a panda costume not having
studied for an important exam being given in a room I cannot find. These
dreams, unfortunately, do not translate into successful fiction but, thanks to Fifty
Shades, a sizable percentage of women in America wish their husbands bough their underwear from Fruit of the Loom's new leather line.
Having recently come to “Demand” TV, Fifty Shades has been nagging
at me for a while. I read the first book and half (okay, for God’s sake, three
quarters) of the second but, after one too many “descriptive” passages, I realized
there are only so many ways to “skin a cat.” *
I soon lost interest .
The real Fifty Shades. |
In a nut shell, our leading man, Christian Grey, likes to
boss his girls around. In a big way.
It also doesn't hurt that he is drop-dead handsome, dresses
in the finest fabrics, lives in a zillion dollar apartment and owns the
universe. Anastasia Steele, his victim/love interest is virginal, naïve and
mumbles.
Starting to get the picture?
Bought in bulk by Mr. Grey... |
Virtual unknowns were ultimately cast in the leads because
no self-respecting actors would touch the parts. It will be interesting to see
if Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson will ever work again…out of the porn
industry, that is. Truth be told, they weren’t all that bad, but if I had been
the director, I would have sent Mr. Dornan packing as soon as I noticed that
his eyes often do not blink at the same time and that Miss Johnson has a facial
portfolio of one and a half expressions.
Anastasia Steele, our heroine – who quickly goes from
wearing dowdy skirts and peter pan collars to sleek dresses with no panty line, if you catch
my meaning - -- is falling in love with the young multibillionaire who has little interest in personal ties (only cable ties). Emotionally stunted somehow in his youth, he is a mysterious mogul who likes to give spankings. The catch is that
Anastasia is crushing on this dashing nut job who has everything but a
dental drill locked in his special “playroom.”
Anastasia soon puts up with all varieties of lunacy (never
once suggesting to Christian that he may want to chat with a therapist) including
what I found much scarier than a riding crop and alligator clips: Christian’s
penchant (and, apparently, the author’s vision of how seriously rich people
recreate ): piloting horribly dangerous forms of air travel from helicopters --
where our hero pays zero attention to the controls -- as well as some sort of
futuristic plane that doesn’t seem to have an engine.
I prefer a game of Scrabble in my playroom. |
All in all, there was lots of lip biting, meaningful eye
contact and enough naughty bits to cause me to leap several feet in the air
when Seth barged in, er, I mean arrived home.
Let’s face it--If
you’ve read the book, you know
you are going to watch the movie when your husband is on jury duty. If you
haven’t read it but want tips on etiquette when hanging from the ceiling while wearing a blindfold and
handcuffs, then I definitely recommend it.
As for me, if anyone ever uttered the words “This is called
a flogger,” I would have immediately been clawing at the door but there’s nothing
like a little sado-masochism to make your Mother’s Day more interesting. I hope
you all enjoyed your day, too.
* Apologies to Buzzy for inappropriate use of a cat metaphor.
I do not accept your apology. |
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