It is disconcertingly normal for blockbuster films to show that women are incomplete without men. Perhaps we are desensitized to the issue because so many movies begin with a virginal, hair-twirling girl with latent prettiness who then meets, and is whisked away by, a handsome man-about-town.

On Feb. 13, 2015, when “Fifty Shades of Grey” hits the big screen and millions of couples forego the customary Valentine’s dinner for a night at the movie theater, they will find a film that goes something like that. “Fifty Shades,” the trilogy that had women of all ages impishly transfixed, is fun at surface level, but is distinctly anti-feminist. Its grimy, subliminal mantra holds that in order to come of age, a girl needs to be changed by a suit-wearing, BDSM-loving millionaire.

Of course, when something has melted into our cultural vernacular, we prefer to enjoy it rather than weigh its phenomenological implications. What is worrisome about “Fifty Shades,” though, is that its fanbase is not even privy to its blatant sexism. Regardless, the idea is that Anastasia only finds herself by virtue of Christian Grey, who greatly enfeebles the large-scale feminist movement.

One could write a laundry list of anti-feminist notions in the novels — to name a few, the reduction of a relationship to a contractual agreement, the incompatibility of BDSM when the man plays the submissive role, Christian’s insistence that he provides fully for Ana and Ana’s complicity in working under Christian’s purview.

“Fifty Shades” is a moral anomaly. On one hand, it has wonderfully liberalized sex, somewhat ridding it of its stigma. On the other, the books indoctrinate their readers with a scantily clad brand of antiquated ideas, the kind feminists have worked hard to undo. It might be too late, but we need to take the book and soon-to-be film for what it is: a vacuous respite from the unsexy day-to-day.

A version of this article appeared in the Fall 2014 Arts Issue. Email Jake Nevins at [email protected].