Curiosity killed the cat and I decided to watch Fifty Shades Of Grey.
It was like every story ever told put into two hours and retold badly.
She is Elizabeth Bennet, he is Mr Darcy. She is Bella, he is Edward. She is Cathy, he is Heathcliff, except Cathy didn't have a beak and scratty bangs, and Heathcliff wasn't a piece of laminate flooring.
It's not clever enough to be about love, and it isn't exciting enough to be about pleasure, it's a bleak illustration of how futile and repulsive our need to put a long stick into a round space really is.
I've had more erotic shits than any of it, but I still watched all of it, and E L James is still a millionaire. The damage has been done.
It was like every story ever told put into two hours and retold badly.
She is Elizabeth Bennet, he is Mr Darcy. She is Bella, he is Edward. She is Cathy, he is Heathcliff, except Cathy didn't have a beak and scratty bangs, and Heathcliff wasn't a piece of laminate flooring.
It's not clever enough to be about love, and it isn't exciting enough to be about pleasure, it's a bleak illustration of how futile and repulsive our need to put a long stick into a round space really is.
I've had more erotic shits than any of it, but I still watched all of it, and E L James is still a millionaire. The damage has been done.
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