50 Shades of a Blockbuster

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There’s a new film blockbuster in the works and it doesn’t center on a comic book and it most certainly won’t feature a superhero.  Oh, wait a minute – it kind of does and it absolutely will.

Fifty Shades of Grey is a trilogy of books about the S & M relationship between a sexy, billionaire businessman possessing gray/grey eyes (get it?), who’s into sexual domination, and aptly named Christian Grey, and his perfect submissive match, Anastasia/Ana Steele – a young college student who arrives in his office one day to interview him in advance of him giving the big keynote speech at her graduation. (Note:  Apologies to all former and current students who feel slighted at my school’s total failure to produce anything even vaguely comparable to CG in the past or, for that matter, in any part of our foreseeable futures.  And no, it is not lost on me that his initials are, indeed, CG).

We're more black and white.. than grey

We’re more black and white.. than grey

In any event, Mr. Grey, or Christian as Ana is quickly urged to call him, instantly became a sort of pop superhero phenomenon some time ago to many mega millions across the comic book world we now live in, though admittedly in a more adult, fantasy setting.  To be exact, the FSoG trilogy has sold in excess of 100 million copies since the first in its series began as a self-published E-BOOK three years ago.  Not to mention, by the time its rights and subsequent sequels were acquired and massively distributed worldwide, its writer, E.L. James, had vaulted to the #1 spot on Forbes 2013 list of top earning authors with an estimated $95 million of revenue in the till for all of her hard work.

EL James' house

EL James at home

Not that any of us do this for the money.

Understandably, there is great fascination as to how the novelistic fantasies of Christian and Ana will play out on the big screen, so much so that the potential of their celluloid (well, okay, digital) coupling is already beginning to build into a worldwide Twilight-like frenzy.  (Note: Interesting, enough, author James’ initial stories for these novels were first posted as Twilight fan fiction until sales soared, she chose new names for her characters and went about expanding the narrative).

It's like us... with whips!

It’s like us… with whips!

But back to FSoG:  The Movie.  The trailer was launched this week and, international fan bases being what they are, it quickly went viral.  The entertainment website The Wrap reported that in less than one day it had been viewed almost 7 million times on YouTube and it is nearing double that total (probably more) in less than a week.  Not to mention how many tens of millions more have watched it elsewhere in various iterations, myself included.

None of this is surprising in light of the phenomenon that is FSoG but is certainly not hurt by the fact that none other than Beyoncé has reworked a slower, more slutty sultry version of her megahit “Crazy In Love” as the theme song to all of the quick cutting, visual and/or implied sexual steaminess FSoG seeks to emit.  And yes, we must use the qualifier seeks because one person’s steaminess is someone else’s camp classic or moral offense.  Truth be told, I’d take any one of the three after a Saturday night spent watching this weekend’s number one film at the box-office, Lucy.  But judge for yourself right here and right now.

Whichever you prefer — steaminess, morality, campiness– the inevitable fact is this film will make a great deal of money – lots and lots and lots and lots of it.  So much so that one can only hope that those working on it have the greatest of deals established upfront with a guarantee to be involved in the next inevitable two or three more FSoG films in all of our pop culture futures.  Given the latter is most certainly the case whether we choose it or not, what is worth noting are several overall factors in how we view what is being touted as the new, hot (not to necessarily be confused with HOT!) film of the day.

1. The Blockbuster and potential Tentpole – Rather than argue about it, any observer of movies (which includes almost everyone you and I know) should recognize what truly makes the modern blockbuster and how many different facets of the industry contribute to it. It is rare, almost unheard of, for an original screenplay to bounce onto the scene – as say ET or Stars Wars or Home Alone did in past decades – and become an international phenomenon anymore.  One needs to be a sequel, a comic book or – the film embodiment of a best selling series of something written or conceived to great financial success in another medium.

Like me!

Like me!

This is not bad news or good news (depending on whether you’re a producer/studio head or creative talent) but simply reality.  That is, until some poor schnook is able to break through the morass and defy the odds.  Which is also inevitable given another reality – that the only sure thing in the world, aside from death and taxes, is change.  Perhaps you are that poor schnook (Note: author E.L. James was not poor before writing FsoG – she was, in fact, a British television executive).  If so, more power to you.  Still, all that being said – and as my gambler Dad tried to warn me – one should always understand the odds before taking the bet.  Not that it ever stopped he or I from making the leap at the things we both really wanted.  Which is probably the best piece of advice to follow but only if you want to wind up as either of us.

2. Women – As a gay guy I particularly LOVE women. Seriously.  No, this does not mean that I ever wanted to be a woman (well, aside from maybe Barbra Streisand when I was 13, but who didn’t?).  Women were always among my bestest friends as a boy and are among my favorite people as adults.  I had mothers and I have sisters – in all forms of the word.  This is why I am somewhat bothered yet openly recognize that big budget movies today deal mostly in archetypes – male and female – though the latter particularly seem to be getting the raw end of the stick.

I feel pretty?  From Jezebel

I feel pretty? From Jezebel

In terms of FSoG, the feminist website Jezebel referenced this as well as anyone else in one of its recent stories with the headline – Put A Cardigan On It:  How to Make a Beautiful Actress Less Beautiful.  The piece then went on to show a somewhat shameless array of mouse to swan images of young screen heroines from the past 40 years starting out in bad sweaters only to be transformed into sunnier versions of themselves in much better and skimpier outfits, not to mention hairstyles and cleavage.  Needless to say, this transformation was mostly due to their hot relationship with a hot guy – the big exception being Devil Wears Prada.  Well, with those as the only choices (Miranda Priestly vs. Christian Grey?) I guess most straight women I know would take the hot guy anytime.  Certainly I would.

This all begs the question of whether cardigans are the new eyeglasses. I for one can remember a time not that long ago in the movies when all it took was for a plain Jane to whip off her spectacles and – BOOM – you had a Bond girl.  Literally.  Which was a lot more efficient than making her shed a variety of badly colored, scratchy, ill-fitting outerwear.

QTers

On that note, I don’t know what to make of Woody Allen’s new Magic in the Moonlight, which seems to want us to root for a romance between a twenty-something young psychic who may or may not possess those powers, played by pert, pretty and perfectly dressed (sans cardigan) Emma Stone and a bitter, curmudgeonly fifty-something magician portrayed by Colin Firth.

However one feels about Mr. Allen’s real life involvements with women, the near thirty-year age difference is so creepy and unacknowledged, especially in the majority of reviews, that one wonders what exactly is the new normal out there in film land.  Sure, Eastwood, Stallone, Schwarzenegger and Michael Douglas have played movie heroes who often romanced women a decade or two younger than themselves.  But is…three now the new one or two?  And what will the standard be in another 20 or 30 years?  It makes the upcoming submissiveness of a young college girl to the desires of a billionaire who was at least born within the same decade feel like a relief.  Or a 1970s after-school special.  Which it might yet be in another 30 years.

Keep working on it!

Keep working on it!

3. Actors – There are movie star films and then there are movies that rise to the top without performers who are household names.  Young adult films and steamy love stories that enjoyed great success in other mediums tend to do the latter.  Twilight had no stars at the time of its launch.  Endless Love, based on the best selling steamy novel from the eighties, was cast with a known but very young model (Brooke Shields) who had limited acting experience and a totally unknown young actor, Martin Hewitt, who is, once again, unknown today. (Note: And please, can we just forget the more recent remake earlier this year? Please?). 9 1/2 Weeks, perhaps the best example of a big studio kinky sex film, starred Mickey Rourke and Kim Bassinger – experienced movie actor quantities but by no means Brad, Angie, Tom, Sandy, Julia or even Shailene.

The new "it" couple

The new “it” couple

This makes the casting of Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson as CG and AS in FSoG certainly in keeping with past choices.  Ms. Johnson has been in a few films and is the daughter and granddaughter of movie stars who know a thing or two about this sort of sexy screen area.  Mom Melanie Griffith first drew controversy for appearing naked at the age of 17 as a promiscuous teen runaway in the 1975 drama, Night Moves and I, for one, remember her father Don Johnson parading around in all his natural glory in 1973’s The Harrad Experiment to great effect – at least on my end.  We won’t even get into her maternal grandmother Tippi Hedren, not naked per se but best known as perhaps one of the most famous of all the Hitchcock blondes.  Which at the very least qualifies you as an expert in steam.  And certainly much more.

A different kind of masochism

A different kind of masochism

As for Mr. Dornan, he’s appeared in a few movies and starred in the recent British TV series The Fall. But like Ms. Shields he also got his start as a model, becoming famous enough to be nicknamed The Golden Torso.  Interesting Side Note: In most of his former work he had a beard (uh, I mean facial hair – don’t be bitchy).  Yet he will appear totally clean-shaven as CG – evoking a physical image slightly akin to that of another Christian – Bale – in American Psycho.

Dornan vs. Hunnam... everybody wins!

Dornan vs. Hunnam… everybody wins!

Of course, this was not the filmmakers’ original conception.  They had first cast Charlie Hunnam, who stars as a rugged, muscly biker in the hit cable series Sons of Anarchy.  But when Mr. Hunnam had to bow out due to scheduling they presumably decided to go in a different direction, as they say.   By the way, the word presumably is a proper one in this case because Mr. Hunnam initially gained acting notoriety as the lithe, blonde underage boy deflowered by one of the handsome leading men in the 1999 British miniseries Queer As Folk.  At least that’s how I first experienced him.  And from memory I can tell you that aside from his experience making steamy naked love onscreen early in his career, he would have cleaned up quite nicely if the FSoG filmmakers had desired it.  As for what images I am suddenly choosing to recall onscreen, #NoThereIsNotAPatternHere.

4. Audiences/The WorldNobody knows anything as William Goldman once famously said about people in the motion picture business predicting hits.   All of it is ultimately second-guessing.  But if one believes in the basics of science – which could be considered a controversial stance in many places in the US these days yet hopefully is not yet one here – there is certainly a cause and effect to everything.

FSoG, like the Twilight series of books, has been dubbed as Mommy Porn in more than some circles.   Confused?  Well, luckily we have a web dictionary handy.

mommy porn

A genre of mainstream erotic literature that primarily appeals to the sensibilities of mothers and housewives

Beware the power of the mom

Beware the power of the mom

Now certainly I am not here to besmirch those sensibilities or to even begin to define what they are because generally I subscribe to what Woody Allen once wrote/said in Manhattan re orgasms:  My worst one was right on the money.

Nevertheless, as stated above the world is not random.   Even musician/singer John Mayer wrote/sang about being nice, kind and honest to young women in Daughters, one of his most famous hit songs, despite his very well publicized and occasionally tawdry womanizing adventures during the last two decades.

Writes/Sings Mr. Mayer:

…On behalf of every man

Looking out for every girl

You are the god and the weight of her world.

So fathers be good to your daughters…

If you want John Mayer, who I don’t know but seems like a nice guy to hang out with, to date your daughter, well he comes off like the gold standard given his song but his actions seem otherwise. Of course, I don’t know because, as I said, I’ve never experienced him personally.  Or any of the women he dates, including any of your daughters.   As for the movies, apply similar logic.  Maybe creating and frequenting future blockbusters like Ffity Shades of Grey won’t come back to haunt us decades later in some odd shape or form.  Or maybe it will.  Like a date with Mr. Mayer, and most certainly Mr. Grey himself, there is room for fantasy on either side.  The only real fantasy is writing off what we do as a random choice – one that will have no effect on any of us or our world at all.

Final Note and full disclaimer: I’ll be seeing FSoG opening weekend – which is – wait for it — Valentine’s Day, 2015.  Like everyone else, I’m nothing if not curious. Whether that’s good, bad or just simply steamy, if for you to decide.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCSfPHLbEDU

Diary of a Chair: Escape from Chicago

Sure, it looks good now, but just wait…

Saturday, Aug. 11, 10pm –  Our last night at the Chicago hotel that hosted this year’s tribute to Harry Potter-obsessed teenagers – Leaky Con.  This means that upon arriving into town three days earlier there were more than 1000 (mostly) teenage girls dressed as characters from all the books and movies in the lobby. When I asked the bell captain what was up he snidely smiled as he told me – “there are 4000 of them staying here to attend the conference.”  Yuk. Yuk.

As it turns out – 98% of the crowd are sweet and lively.  About 25% were young men.  And 5% were parents and adults of questionable character. Think — the cast of “Glee” but instead of musicals they all like young people’s English literature for their own particular reasons.

a sampling of attendees

Note:  Costumes were all homemade and one girl insisted I do a secret handshake with her, which turned out to be fun.  Of all those under 21, all were polite except for the two 18 year olds in the early check out line who happened to be staying in the hotel – but instead of being into all things Potter were mostly into oblivious texting on their sleek, black phones.  I can’t help but think this observation is significant.

Saturday, Aug. 11, 7pm – Earlier that evening, we’re at the finale banquet dinner of a 3-day academic conference held at the Adler Planetarium.  The views outside are  spectacular and it’s a fine choice for a finale.  But I do miss the Potter gals.

love her.

Also, I discover Planetarium light shows have not changed much since I was in fourth grade.  Why do we go out of our way to remind children of how insignificant humans are in the existential scheme of planetary existence??

Sunday, Aug. 12, 1:00 am – I can’t sleep thinking about the 5 am wakeup time to get to the airport for the 8:30 am flight back to Los Angeles.  It could be partly due to the root canal awaiting me this week and my dentist’s parting words:  “and then hopefully we can save the tooth.”  No one cared about such things in Potter world, I think.  In fact, I know that to be more of a contemporary American thing and consider picking up one of the books myself prior to flying.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 7:30am – I’m at the super cool Virgin America terminal awaiting to board our hipper-than-hip plane that allowed me to listen to Amy Winehouse on the departure flight while I was watching “Jeff Who Lives At Home” on the screen of the young girl next to me without the sound.  I am not stalking young females.  No.  Really.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 10:00 am – Mechanical problem on the plane that they’re working on.  Meanwhile, we talk to three sisters in their 70s going to visit a fourth sister for a “sister’s reunion” on Catalina Island.  I realize they’re way funnier than anything in the movie as they talk of ducking outside for “smokes,” the fact that one of their sons is wasting his life “shoving chicken out a window” at the neighborhood KFC and should go back to college, and question if the logo on one of a competing airlines is actually Lucifer or just looks like him.  I couldn’t make this stuff up.  Really.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 11am – A pilot who looks like the younger brother of Capt. Sully of Hudson River fame, explains to us they’re still working on the plane and there’s no word but that he will keep us informed and, yeah, it stinks to be so inconvenienced.  He’s sorry.  Aside from liking his manner and the fact that he’s central casting for a trustworthy airman, his name is Steve – as is mine and my partner in travel (and life).  I take this as a sign that everything will be okay.  Really.

Our pilot, in about 20 years

Addendum: Virgin gate attendants give out a game with 15 jumbles of airline-related words.  The two Steves have five college degrees between them and smile as snidely as the hotel bell captain, convinced we will be among the first five winners to unscramble them all and get free food and drink vouchers.  We don’t even come close.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 12:30 pm – Virgin scrubs our flight.  Since we’ve all been awake since 4am and waiting, no one is happy.

Bad news:  No other airline at O’Hare has empty seats at this late date on a Sunday.

Great news!  Snappy and “with it” Virgin Air will provide a special plane for any of us who want it that will get us out on a flight to L.A. that leaves at 11:00 that night.  We can hang out or just come back to the gate at our convenience an hour ahead of time.  As the Barefoot Contessa says on the Food Channel, “How Easy Is That?”

“SO easy,” says Ina.

In “I’m cool” news:  I manage to be the first to give my name the Virgin Air personnel so I don’t have to wait on line with the other 100 plus people reserving space for 11:00 pm.   And a few minutes later the sisters are even snuck a Virgin gift certificate to free meals at the Olive Garden!  It’s true – seriously!

Sunday, Aug. 12, 2:30 pm – We finish a not-so-good lunch at another terminal and, in an airport walkway, a passenger from our plane tells us our special 11:00 flight was cancelled and it’s a good thing he saw us cause we need to get back to the gate asap.  Not sure what this means for the sisters at the Olive Garden but we skedaddle to selfishly take care of ourselves.

Gee thanks, Ina

Sunday, Aug. 12, 4:00 pm – We are sent downstairs for ticketing and spend 90 mins. waiting on line trying to get rebooked for any later flights at all but everything’s sold out.  A lady from Iran starts to yell, fearing she’ll lose her job if she doesn’t get home.  She later tells me later that she “expects this in my country because everything is like that – but this is America.”  I’m not quite sure what to say right then and there.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 4:30pm After two hours waiting, Virgin Air promises swears they will provide a plane at 9am for us since their other flights TOMORROW are booked.  They give us a voucher to the Double Tree Inn,  a 10-15 minute tram ride away and send us half a mile to the baggage claim area to pick up our bags once checked.  Then they instruct us to return to this airport no later than 6 or 7am the next morning – three hours prior to the take off of this flight.  My tooth finally starts to hurt.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 6:30 pm – The tram driver was Third Reichish , it’s starting to rain and we listen as a fellow passenger – a 20something guy with long-hair and a very cool affect – tell his odd relationship history with women to a female traveler from Hong Kong in the next seat who he flirts with.  I realize once again in my life that looks aren’t everything.  I hope to God she realizes this and I’m not even religious.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 9:00 pm – The long-haired guy is still bending the ear of the young woman in the Double Tree Inn Restaurant but they’re both in new outfits.  Uh, oh.  Also, a bartender with a deep voice who claims to have known Ryan Seacrest when he was working in Chicago radio (as the Olympics plays on TV behind him), plies two women with drinks on opposite ends of the bar.  One eventually starts to cry and he steps out from behind his post and rubs her back.  The other later orders another drink and he drops that he’ll “be here till 11.” Then she hints she might return.  As my grandmother used to say, “oy vey.”  I, however, admit to being equally repulsed and intrigued.

Sunday, Aug. 12, 10:39 pm – After watching snippets of the closing ceremony of the Olympics we leave the TV on NBC because the hotel room’s remote control won’t change channels and we need a diversion.  We miss several musical acts but get to see the pilot of something called “Animal Practice” and the Sunday night Chicago news, whose weather forecaster promises big morning thunderstorms.   When The Who show up to close the Olympics post newscast and I can’t help but wonder what happened in London as we were staring at a TV pilot, the local news and the threat of a Midwest electrical disaster that could down our plane.  A voice answers: NBC hubris.  But at this point I’m too tired to really fight.

WHO even saw this?

Sunday, Aug. 12, 10:53 pm – My cell rings and it’s a local number.  But not one I recognize.  It’s our same favorite corporate Virgin Air reps telling us the 9am aircraft for tomorrow has mechanical difficulties too.  They can squeeze us on something that leaves Monday night but that there are only a few seats left and that, really, there is no guarantee with them or anyone else if we don’t book now.  The other Steve (my partner – not the pilot) starts to uncharacteristically fling nasty, non-Harry Potter insults at the Virgins in the background as I ask if we can count on this flight actually happening.  I’m told that “nothing is ever 100%.” Duh as if I didn’t already know that.  And truthfully, I wouldn’t write that anywhere.  Well, except here.

Monday, Aug. 13, 12:30 am –I think I see lightning. It is now raining.  Since I don’t like flying even in nice weather, this concerns me.  As do my teeth because due to stress and the fact they upset my stomach, I missed the last 6 hours of antibiotics meant to keep an almost dead tooth from becoming infected.  The other online-intrepid Steve meanwhile scours the web and eventually sneaks us on a 7:55 am United flight (take that, Virgins!) so we can get back in the nick of time for our jobs and my tooth.  To ensure this and to accommodate the machinations of weather and dictatorial tram drivers, we pony up another $800 as my finger shakily sets the hotel room wakeup call for…4 ayem.  I’m convinced I don’t need to sleep because not being alert to everything around you is obviously much too dangerous.

How I imagine this flight.. or the beginning of Lost

Monday, Aug. 13, 5:00 am – A new tram driver misses our stop at United completely even though we and another couple told him three times of our destination.  Note:  This couple bears no resemblance to any couple mentioned thus far and is not recognizable from the airport, bar or hotel.  I’m not sure if this is significant but think even the smallest detail could be at this very crucial and very early time.

Monday, Aug. 13, 8:15 am – We are seated on our new United plane, convinced we’ve gamed the system (somewhat) and mentally composing our letter (email?)/phone conversation with the hideous Virgin Air to reimburse us. (Unless I can persuade a powerful friend who has met Richard Branson to give me his email address and his vacation home).  That is, until the pilot announces there is a bad smell in the baggage/engine area in this new United airplane that they need to investigate.

Monday, Aug. 13, 8:17 am – We are told we can deplane if we like and walk around while they tinker or we can stay put until there is news.  I begin to worry about the other Steve next to me, reassured somewhat by the airline rule against passengers carrying guns onboard a plane and thrilled no Steves I know (or live with) actually have a permit to carry one.  Remembering the advice of a former writing teacher from many years ago, I quickly decide to listen to Earth, Wind and Fire’s greatest hits to calm me down..

Monday, Aug. 13, 10:15 am – We are ordered to take our seats again, passengers are ordered back inside, the engines rev and we are told we will be taking off.  No one seems to know what the smell was or if it’s affected the engine.  It’s as if it never happened, though suddenly I detect a distinct gasoline odor and become very concerned.  The other Steve threatens to behead me with his iPhone if I dare utter one word about it.  I shrink down in my seat, the stench of fumes all around me, and cover myself with a thin blue United Airlines blanket with a disinfectant chemical odor all of its own.  For many reasons, I don’t want to die this way.  I am not really happy.

Roughly how I spent the flight.

Monday, Aug. 13, five hours later, 1:30 pm – We land safely at LAX, 36 hours after our initial return trip began.   But I begin to wonder what Orville and Wilbur Wright would think about both the popularity and reality of air travel today.  And consider that more can happen since we haven’t deplaned.

A few minutes later, I think of the fine Lichtenstein exhibit we snuck off to at Chicago’s spectacular Art Institute and wonder if I’m too much of a complainer who hasn’t yet caught on to the fact that we’re all living in our own version of one of his comic book paintings.  I also ponder if me asking this very question is what Lichtenstein had intended all along.

I give in.

As we walk through the airport to L.A. baggage claim, I think of JK Rowling and consider if when she sat in her apartment conceiving Harry and Hogwarts if she ever dreamed of what the ripple effect would be of her mass invention (or if it would be).  And also, if she’s even aware of this obscure Midwest convention of Potterites called Leaky Con that, its brochures clearly note, have nothing at all to do with her or any of WB’s “Harry” films.

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions.  Not even close.  The only thing I do know is that – strangely – I do miss the Potter kids at the hotel.  Though I have no plans in the near or distant future to ever travel back on an airplane to see them.

Then I have one last thought –  that perhaps I can invent another way – one that doesn’t involve the corruption of a really neat invention – by either mere neglect, inconsideration or some other sort of corporate malfeasance.

In a Potter-like land of make believe, I find myself, once again, hopeful.