The premiere of

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY

After months of unrest and worldwide excitement was last night for many women the redemption there: Fifty Shades of Grey premiered internationally. In Amsterdam, the glitz and glam gathered at Tuschinski to indulge in the hottest film of the year. At least, that was the intention.

Because hot, that film was not. I haven't read a letter of the books so I had no image of Anastasia or Christian, but that meant I went in completely unprejudiced. I had looked forward to steamy scenes, to red ears, to wobbly knees, and to a lot of sensual nudity. But none of that came. The film is a two-hour cartoon with ZERO percent sex. Absolutely nothing. This is mainly due to the lead actors; I have rarely seen so little chemistry between two people on screen. In an average episode of Friends, there is more sex and tension. But also because many things were unintentionally funny. The audience often burst into laughter at moments when that was actually not the intention. It was all so clumsy and the dialogues are so barbarically bad, you really can't do anything with it.

Even I got a dry pussy from it

It is of course also difficult to translate sex from paper to sex on screen. Especially in an American film. As film critic Andre Nientied describes it: “Hollywood, where a flaccid penis already has a hard time passing the inspection and its stiff counterpart is completely rejected.” There are plenty of breasts in it, by the way; my best friend Sadie went with me yesterday and sighed: “I have seen the tits of that Anastasia more often than my own.” But well, one cannot live on a few breasts.

Not that it matters, by the way; the film is already breaking all visitor records and has recouped the entire budget of 40 million dollars within one day. And I would definitely recommend you to go see it, if only to be able to complain about the badness of the film. By the way, I was not the only one who thought so; I won't name names, but several celebrities simply walked out of the theater halfway through the film. And afterwards, everyone had to keep a straight face to not burst out laughing too hard at how bad it was. Fred van Leer summed it up nicely: “Even I got a dry pussy from it.” So we did the only thing left to do: drink the bar dry. And dance. And go to bed on time, because you should never reward bad movies with good hangovers.