So the waffling about saying something about the 50 Shades of Grey um, phenomenon, hardened to a stiffish resolve after I heard the bake and shark woman at Maracas tell her friend she had secured a copy of the movie and was waiting for Monday, because: "Is me alone home, and I want to watch that by mehself."
Which made me curious as to exactly what she thought she was going to see in 50 Shades, in these days of free Internet porn, anything-goes Carnival fetes and loathsome beach "cool-downs" which feature young girls doing alarming things to themselves in public, filming it and putting it on the Internet.
Some slivers of the book's popularity slipped past my filters over the last couple of years, but the movie was more successful in penetrating the consciousness.
I actually considered going to see it even before a couple of friends asked me to go, because they needed someone to elbow and snicker with. I'm normally borderline fascist on movie etiquette, but to watch this movie without making snide remarks and expletives would be like going to a beerfest without a pissoir.
So, 50 Shades: a young impressionable chick (who is apparently over the age of consent, and still a virgin–which is the only suspension of disbelief moment), meets 27-year-old billionaire, Mr Grey. Her innocence beguiles him and he pursues her in many expensive cars, with all the suaveness and persistence of a 16-year-old on a scooter.
Virgin-Chick is also beguiled, and the affair begins. But there's a twist: Mr Grey's needs are elaborate: they involve a playroom outfitted with leather straps, chains, whips and handcuffs. And a contract, which involves clauses about things which cannot be discussed in a family newspaper.
Virgin-Chick demurs (unlike the 15 others who signed the contract), and Mr Grey is inflamed and gives chase. Which chase occasionally resembles stalking and involves him showing up uninvited at her mother's house, and various other places. She does not call the police, unfortunately, and he gives her a car.
Apart from the occasional stab of paranoia as to whether these actors were actual adults, and were old enough to be doing this, I was also struck by the tameness. If you're old enough to know what an After School Special is, that's what it seemed like. Mr Grey's kink isn't so much erotic as neurotic. He confesses that he was adopted and had been a crack-baby, which told the whole story, and its solution: a little therapy, boom, monochrome.
It's also worth mentioning (because young and many old people have no clue about these things) that Shades is a knockoff of a 1954 French book, The Story of O, by Pauline R�age (the nom de plume of Anne Desclos). O came from a tradition of the Marquis de Sade, and Balzac's Com�die humaine.
Naturally, the older books are much better, and I understand that there are contemporary works of erotic fiction which handle these themes (dominance and submission) much more satisfyingly. (I recommend Balzac's novella, The Girl with the Golden Eyes, free for download on Ibooks.)
So, given all that, the things you can see on the Internet these days, and with the term "S & M" seeming pass�, if not na�ve compared to the average rap video, what on earth did the shark and bake woman expect to find in 50 Shades?
Apparently this expectation is common to women across the board. My two pardners who invited me to the movie, both over 40 (and what the British would call "yummy mummies,") confessed without shame that they'd read all three books, and planned in advance to see the movies when they came out.
But why? I have a couple of theories. It might be a primal chick thing.
Grey could be the woman equivalent of the movie Taken. Maybe they get a similar hormonal surge on hearing Mr Grey say: "If you belonged to me, you wouldn't be able to walk for a week," that dudes get when they listen to Liam Neeson say those immortal words: "I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you." Except Neeson delivers with monster mojo; Mr Grey sounds like a twerp.
But I actually checked this theory out with a woman, who pooh-poohed it. Why would otherwise smart women follow this nonsense through three books? Because in the end (of the books, not the movie,) I was told, he completely trusts her, she wins! And he talks to her, and listens to her feelings, after the spanking and whipping.
So (I'm guessing) that's what women want: to tell you about their feelings, and for you to listen and look interested. And it took an awful novel to bring that to the world. The bad news is that men would actually prefer to be handcuffed, blindfolded and whipped rather than listen to feelings. (Or that might just be me.)
I did discover a couple of things about life in general and women in particular squirming and cussing through 50 Shades of Grey, and wondering at the fumbling, milquetoast 20-somethings meander through postmodern posthuman dilemmas. Firstly, I don't envy young people. Secondly, if you can fake interest in women's feelings, you're in like Flynn. And thirdly, women over 40 rock compared to anorexic 20- and 30-somethings.