Fifty Shades Darker

Cert: 18: Now showing Maybe there is method in the madness of Fifty Shades Darker. As we giggle at the idiotic lines and clunky reactions of the dull on-screen couple, you wonder if this ‘mummy porn with a side of comedy’ is a ploy by zillionaire author and co-producer EL James and scriptwriter husband Niall Leonard.

You can only hope. At the preview screening for this second spankfest, there were wild hoots of laughter in junctures where no laughter was invited. The same was reported of the $570m-grossing first instalment of the franchise. No one seemed to mind that time and it is unlikely anyone will with this follow-up that sees Sam Taylor-Johnson replaced by James Foley, a director who in 1992 gave the world the magnificent David Mamet adaptation, Glengarry Glen Ross. How things can change. And yet, in other ways, how they stay the same. As Christian Grey, the saga’s dark lord of slap-and-tickle, Jamie Dornan is still ill at ease with a role that demands he wear a predatory frown and little else. Still mumbling and moping away alongside her vampiric beau in penthouse opulence is Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson). He swoops back into her life promising it’ll all be different this time. She sets out her conditions whilst rummaging through the walk-in closet he has bought her, before being buckled into some manner of medieval shackle. Sexier auditing reports exist.

We can discuss the soapy narrative, stiff dialogue, absent chemistry, absurd plot devices and vulgar wealth-porn all we like; the fact is you either already plan on seeing this or you don’t.