A wisp of pubic hair here, a butt shot there, arch that back, thrust those hips. Could you guess that, despite her name, director Sam Taylor-Johnson is a woman?
Yes, if only for the most telling and perhaps wisest omission.
There is, however, one move that did make an impression on me.
When Johnson’s Anastasia Steele straddles the lap of Dornan’s Christian Grey while he is seated on a piano bench (with all of his mournful nocturnal ivory tickling, it’s as if De Sade and the Phantom of the Opera had a child together), he manages to use his bent arms like a forklift under her shapely behind, pick her up with ease and whisk her back into the boudoir.
” is a regular) and silly references to our heroine’s Jiminy Cricket-like “inner goddess” nowhere to be found.