Fifty Shades Of Grey

Fifty Shades Of Grey gets the job done, and that’s about as much praise as this tepid adaptation of the bestselling novel deserves.

Anyone complaining that it doesn’t delve deeply enough into the bondage subculture enjoyed by rich, handsome cipher Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) or depict in greater and more graphic detail the sexual relationship between Grey and naive, virginal Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) is advised to search elsewhere for their kicks. The knots, the spankings and the other accoutrements of Grey’s well appointed ‘playroom’ are a dash of spice designed to add flavour to an otherwise bland tale of an unworldly but emotionally open woman negotiating a relationship with a controlling dude who’s not down with any of that cuddling malarkey.

There’s not much of a story to speak of here – shy, clumsy Anastasia meets chilly, ‘charismatic’ Christian; sex, confusion and melancholy piano-playing ensues – but director Sam Taylor-Johnson presents it competently, with just enough flashes of eroticism and artistry (the abrupt ending is actually quite effective) to make the viewer believe some effort has gone into the whole thing. And Johnson is very good as Anastasia, conveying a sly wit and curiosity without winking to the audience that she’s better than the slight material she’s working with. (Dornan, a late inclusion after Charlie Hunnam pulled out, is a handsome blank, but at least he doesn’t overplay the smoulder.)