The movie version of E.L. James's series—which began as Twilight fan fiction—will be an adaptation of an adaptation. Which is at least a better reason to exist than the original novels had.
50 Shades of Grey, the erotic romance series by E.L. James, was a massive international best-seller and publishing phenomenon. This, of course, means there must be a movie. And so there shall be; the internet is already abuzz with grim foreshadowings ... er, teasers. The film will be NC-17! Alexander Skarsgard may play Christian Grey and show off his incredibly enormous penis! Mila Kunis or Amanda Seyfried may play Anna, which means we'll get to see Mila Kunis or Amanda Seyfried in nipple clamps! And so forth.
It's probably needless to say, but I'll say it anyway: The movie is going to be dreadful. The 50 Shades of Grey novels are almost incomprehensibly bad. To stick with the most obvious problem, both Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele, our romantic leads, are smug, self-absorbed, whiny drama-queens with the combined intelligence of a stump. The fact that we are supposed to believe that Christian is a brilliant self-made multimillionaire and that Anna has a profound love of literature only throws into high relief the bleak banality of their every thought and utterance. These are people who think it is the height of flirtatious wittiness to refer to each other as "Mr. Grey" and "Miss Steele." The idea that anyone—even Christian Grey—could fall in love with such a repulsive, vacuous specimen as Anastasia Steele is ludicrously implausible, and vice versa.
And yet, the gargantuan awfulness of the books is not just a trap for the films. It's also an opportunity. Even if the films are very bad, they still have a good chance of doing that thing that films almost never do: being better than the books.
In part, this is simple regression to the mean. E.L. James is such a poor writer that whichever Hollywood hack does the script almost has to be an improvement. Similarly, having even a mediocre actor portray Anna with facial expression and line readings has to be better than relying on James's aggressively arid inner monologue full of "Holy shit!"'s and "Holy crap!"'s and constant references to Anna's "inner goddess." Plus, would you rather read overwrought prose about Christian inserting silver balls into Anna, or would you rather watch Alexander Skarsgard insert silver balls into Mila Kunis? James has to keep telling us how sexy Christian and Anna are. Hollywood can provide us with actual world-class physiques of both genders.