50 Shades Darker

Year: 2017

Genre: Drama

Directed: David Foley

Stars: Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan, Eric Johnson, Eloise Mumford, Bella Heathcote, Rita Ora, Luke Grimes, Victor Rasuk, Max Martini, Bruce Altman, Kim Basinger, Marcia Gay Harden

Production: Universal Pictures

If you can say anything nice about 50 Shades Darker it’s that, unlike its odious predecessor, it at least doesn’t tack on some faux “liberated woman” bulls**t in the feeble hopes of shutting down naysayers. Adding something to that effect at the end of this stinker would have been the equivalent of saying “don’t tinkle in public right,” after electrocuting yourself on an electric fence, fly first. Also, while we’re on the subject of niceties, another good thing about this movie is it ends…eventually.

What did I just sit through?

Anastasia Steele (D. Johnson), our milquetoast protagonist from the last film is at it again with her manipulative, controlling, borderline psychotic, billionaire boyfriend, Christian Grey (Dornan). Only this time, the only safety word we’re given is “change”. As in, “I’m a changed man,” and/or “you need to change,” or (if you ignore the theatrical release and find this garbage on Cinemax) “change the channel.” Anastasia is convinced the Christian does desire to be a little less sadistic and does have it in him to change; and if we follow the cues of director David Foley, it seems the movie wants to convince us he can.

There’s a side plot involving a former “submissive” (Heathcote) who was gaslighted by Grey long ago, but for the most part we’re stuck in the bloated doldrums of Christian and Anna’s airless relationship. Their relationship includes such emotional highlights as: angry text messages, excessive brooding, frustrating secrecy and Christian pulling out all the stops to literally buy his paramour. The film then takes great pains to elevate every tiny independent choice Anastasia makes into some epic act of defiance comparable to Kunta Kinte on the whipping pole. Reality is, it’s just a concentrated dose of rich white people problems pureed and injected into the faces of willing audiences like Botox.

But of course, this movie is not for me. I’m about as far from the prime demographic as you can get (the prime demo of course being aliens piecing together what exactly happened before the Earth was destroyed). Those interested in seeing the sequel to a film based on a book, based on Twilight fan-fiction, are only interested in one thing. I’ll give you a guess as to what that is.

Well far be it from me to disagree with the middle-aged women sitting behind me smelling of cheap perfume and Peppermint Schnapps but I really doubt everyone got their money’s worth this time around. This movie is not only an insult to fiction publishers, the Seattle skyline, helicopters, the S&M subculture and whatever the f**k Christian Grey actually does for a living, 50 Shades Darker is an insult to good smut. At least good smut gives you the goods. This movie and the filmic atrocity before it gives you the thirty second sample version of what you actually want and fills the rest of the time with blank stares, lacy corsets and a complete misunderstanding of human anatomy.

The 50 Shades series (2012-Present), despite being horrid in every conceivable way has still managed so far to scrounge enough fans for further movies. To them I ask, would Christian Grey still appeal to you if he had a bank account to match his IQ? Would you still want this character tracing his abs with lipstick then? They say that the difference between erotica and porn is the lighting. I think I would have rather been left in the dark on this series.

Final Grade: F