FIFTY SHADES FREED (MA15+)
Director: James Foley ( Fifty Shades Darker) Starring: Jamie Dornan, Dakota Johnson, Rita Ora, Luke Grimes, Eric Johnson. Rating:
Departing of the sleaze
Prepare to turn the lights way down low in the bedroom of your mind. Then set your expectations even lower.
The end to the most trouser-troubling trilogy in motion-picture history is upon us.
That’s right, after the first two tempestuous movie kink-a-thons from the pen of author EL James seduced the world box-office and made off with over a billion dollars, Fifty Shades Freed is here to zip up, give you a quick peck on the cheek, and disappear.
The whole experience has been like a bad Tinder date that lasted three years. The best that can be said of Fifty Shades
Freed is that it offers the lasting relief of knowing the franchise won’t ever be calling for another hook-up.
While the new movie has been rated by Australian censors as an MA15-plus, the feckless plotting of Fifty Shades Freed comes in at an IQ15-minus.
Dashing dominant doofus Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) is still a mopey moneybags with mummy issues, while ditzy doormat Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) is still there to be walked all over.
Any fresh developments? Well, Christian and Ana are now husband and wife. However, the heavy-breathing honeymoon for the sadomasochistic spouses is noticeably shortlived. And not just because Ana has sprung the surprise she is pregnant. Or that Christian pettily reacts to the news as if someone stole his favourite pair of studded leather undies.
Without going into too many specifics, a member of the unhappy couple’s inner circle will be abducted by someone with a stalker-ish grudge against Mr and Mrs Grey.
But not before we are treated to a fleshy fracas or two in Christian’s pimped-out pervcave The Red Room, an unnecessary driving sequence or two brought to you by Audi, and a longform lovemaking scene brought to you by, I kid you not, Ben & Jerry’s.
Unbelievably, the spectacle of Dornan and Johnson using each other as ice-cream bowls ranks as only the second strangest scene in Fifty Shades Freed.
(The one that takes the WTF cake is the bit where everything stops so Dornan can woozily croon a tune while playing the piano. Mark my words: Hugh Jackman will not be looking over his shoulder any time soon.)
So there you have it: you’ve been a naughty, naughty audience for ever giving the Fifty
Shades phenomenon the right to exist. So by all means, plonk your money down on
Fifty Shades Freed, and cop the punishment you undoubtedly deserve.
Spank you very much.