I haven’t read the novel or seen the 1971 version with Clint Eastwood, but it probably wouldn’t matter if I did. Whether based on an original story or adapted from an existing source, Sofia Coppola’s films are so distinctive they drive all thoughts of comparisons away and feel like entirely her creations.
I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey, and unfortunately, rather than bad and hilarious it was mostly bad and dull. The one guaranteed source of chuckles in the book was Anastasia’s inner goddess, i.e. her wanton part who ignores the red flags and just wants Christian Grey, now. For some reason, her more sensible counterpoint is Anastasia’s subconscious, who constantly tut-tuts and berates Anastasia; call it nitpicking but why on earth would it be the subconscious who plays this role? Isn’t it a part of the mind a person is not fully aware of?
Anyway here are my favourite cringeworthy extracts:
His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something.
I feel the colour in my cheeks rising again. I must be the colour of the Communist Manifesto.
Quickly, he clambers out of the bath, giving me my first full glimpse of the Adonis, divinely formed, that is Christian Grey. My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring, too, open-mouthed and drooling slightly.
My inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face.
My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.
This beautiful man wants me. My inner goddess glows so bright she could light up Portland.
Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.
I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible.