Is the “Fifty Shades” phenomenon the ultimate proof that sex sells?
By K.S.C.
AT THE peak of its popularity one copy of the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy was being bought somewhere in the world every second. Last year E.L. James’s delighted publishers, Vintage, announced that 100m copies had been sold worldwide—45m in America alone—and that the erotic tale of a billionaire’s S&M seduction of a college virgin could be bought in over 50 languages. Then, just as it seemed that peak Grey might have been reached, it was announced that Sam Taylor-Wood, a British artist with a single film director's credit to her name, was to make the film version, and the whole circus unfurled its tent once more. The reaction to the movie’s release has been much the same: a huge commercial success despite the critics’ disdain. Over its opening weekend, worldwide, the film took $248m—in Britain it took more money than any previous 18-certificate picture.
But is the “Fifty Shades of Grey” phenomenon proof that sex sells, and the kinkier the better? Not really. In fact the film, like the book, often seems more of a paean to the aphrodisiac powers of fast cars and trips in helicopters and gliders than anything more outré. Bloomberg wrote about the film’s many expensive consumables, from the Omega watches, one of which costs $26,500, to the art, by way of the grey bespoke silk ties. In fact, you could be forgiven for feeling the lesson here is that a billion or two in the bank will make you wildly attractive no matter how deeply creepy you are.
When the camera’s gaze pans away from the lavish furnishings of Mr Grey’s apartment to show us the couple getting down to business, the sex is rather anticlimactic. At its heart “Fifty Shades” is a classic redemptive story of a very good, virginal woman taming a deeply flawed man. The passages of explorative sex are just the decorative gilding that sets this apart from countless Mills & Boons. This makes it all the more surprising that it is here that the film falls woefully short in two ways. Firstly, although it is likely that heterosexual women will make up the vast majority of the film’s viewers, far more is seen of the body of Anastasia Steele (played by Dakota Johnson) than that of Mr Grey (Jamie Dornan). There is not so much as a glimpse of penis. Ms Steele never reaches orgasm or even evinces much sexual enjoyment, although this was discussed in the book. What is shown, in excruciating detail, is Ms Steele being given a demonstration by Mr Grey, at her request, of precisely how bad S&M sex with him will be. She submits, in tears and obvious pain, to six lashes with the buckle end of a belt.
This brings us to the second problem with the franchise’s sexy selling point: what viewers are being shown is not sex but violent abuse. As Lesley Hall, senior archivist at the Wellcome Collection and author of “Sex, Gender and Social Change in Britain since 1880”, points out, negotiation and informed consent is fundamental to real-life BDSM (bondage-discipline-sadism-masochism) relationships, but noticeably absent here. “Fifty Shades of Grey”, in addition to its stock redemption narrative, contains another frequently reoccuring fantasy. “The idea that you’ll meet someone who’ll fulfil your desires, even if they’re really kinky”, Dr Hall explains, “is a powerful one.” Even more so if it is responsibility-free. But the reality, as so many in the BDSM community have pointed out, is that both the dominant and submissive parties must carefully work through and reach agreement on what the parameters are. Those in the community often claim it is the submissive who truly holds power, since they are the ones who can say stop at any time.
Perhaps, in the end, the moral of “Fifty Shades” is that it isn’t sex but fantasies that sell. And as anyone who has seen the film adaptation of “The Story of O” will know only too well, fantasies are best left between the covers.
