Let me begin by saying that I often take greater pleasure from a solid hatewatch than I do from genuinely enjoying a good movie (e.g.: Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus; the complete works of M. Night Shyamalan; my homemade pornography (KIDDING) (sorry mom)). Thus, I was incredibly excited by all of the terrible reviews of the 50 Shades of Grey movie. I built it up in my head; I imagined how embarrassingly bad some of the scenes could be in movie format; I soaked myself in the internet’s outrage like a hot bath. I brought my boyfriend. I purchased a shotglass of Sauvignon Blanc from the movie theater bar for $37. I was ready.

Without further ado, I present to you: The Official C + J (But Mostly C Because J Is A Polite Moviegoer) 50 Shades Of Grey Hatewatch Notes And Commentary

Your reviewers:
C, 24/f. Has read the entire trilogy except last 20 pages; could no longer handle Ana’s Inner Goddess Monologue, threw Kindle on ground in fit of rage and gave up.

J, 26/m. Has not read the books (shocking, for a 26 year old man); has been given a probably-exhaustive summary by C. Is a good sport.

The lights go down.

-Ana. You are 22. Take off that fucking SHORT-SLEEVED, FLORAL-PATTERNED COLLARED SHIRT and FUCKING. BURN IT. this just in: it’s possible to be An Innocent without looking like you got dressed in the dark 17 years ago.

-Sorry, I don’t even know what happened in the first 12 minutes of this film because I was in a blind fit of wardrobe rage.

-Jamie Dornan: it’s been 14 minutes and I’m unconvinced. Stop grimacing every time you say something that’s supposed to be *~SeXy~*. You look hungry.

-Speaking of hungry: cue scene where Ana is making a sandwich and asks her roommate Kate if she wants one. Kate says no. Ana makes a sandwich. Kate saunters over and says- verbatim- “I wasn’t hungry but now I am… love you!” and TAKES THE SANDWICH and WALKS AWAY. For me, this was the most unrealistic part of the movie, because Ana didn’t immediately pull a shank out of her frilly tween sock and stab Kate in the throat. Sandwich stealing: punishable by death according to any roommate code.

-Dakota Johnson’s wasted-college-gurl voice: phenomenal. Should be used in place of her normal voice moving forward.

-These people have seen each other (with their eyeballs, not as in “SEEING each other”) for a total of 15-18 minutes and are engaging in a Slightly Tearful Dramatic Face-Hugging Breakup Discussion on the sidewalk outside fuckin’ Starbucks. In my whole life, I have felt less feelings than these two actors are attempting to portray. I feel strangely proud of this.

-Dornan somehow manages to form his pained and unwilling mouth into the iconic line from the book: “I don’t make love. I fuck. Hard.” This moment stood out to me as the first time I have seen a male adult look completely and utterly dead inside while explicitly discussing acts of sexual congress. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

-Christian Grey is the kind of guy who will take your virginity and then, while you’re sleeping, sneak off and tickle the ivories with Minuet In E Minor at 3am. Okie doke. I’m calling the police.

-My poor boyfriend. At least all of the pained, soulful eye-gazing has thus far been punctuated with frequent nipples- although we’ve been together for SIGNIFICANTLY longer than 6 days, and he has not had an 18-inch MacBook delivered to my home. Maybe he doesn’t deserve frequent nipples afterall. #doghouse

-re: The Submissive Contract- ladies, repeat after me: “Any motherfucker who tells me what to eat loses his donger.”

-Ana: “…What are buttplugs?” C: *deafening snort laugh because I’m 12* J: “She’s joking, right?”

-The Sex Scenes: kinda hot, also kinda like both people would rather be drinking alone in a damp basement (just like normal sex- am I right, LADIEZ?) Here, I will give Dornan credit for one very successful *~SeXy~* line delivery that didn’t make me want to immediately take a Shame Bath: “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.” Yaaaaassssss.

-In one of the last scenes of the movie, I realize the most critical casting mistake of this particular film and also of all cinema ever: Christian’s driver, Taylor, is giving me more sex from behind the wheel of a Buick than I’ve gotten in 4 scenes with actual banging.

DO YOU SEE THIS? THIS motherfucker will spank you. Max Martini: call me.

Overall, 50 Shades was a fabulous hatewatch, dampened only by the fact that I totally didn’t hate it. It was corny and overwrought and overacted, which is exactly what I wanted it to be. Unlike in the books, Ana didn’t make me want to throw myself off a cliff. Just like in the books, I am torn between wanting Christian to spank me, and wanting to punch him in the dick for being a narcissistic asshole who continually ignores his deep-seated personal issues like a pouty toddler (why is this feeling so familiar?), and I can’t be alone in that. Apparently the combination of “horny” and “experiencing rampant cognitive dissonance” was the heretofore-undiscovered key to hitting 100 million book sales. Humanity, I love you.

50 Shades of Grey: Carly’s Into That.