FILM FRENZY

Jamie Dornan and Dakota Johnson in Fifty Shades of Grey (Photos: Universal)

By Matt Brunson

(This feature is part of a rotating series that digs into the past and uncovers a movie as follows: Two-Star Tuesday for a movie that earns either two or two-and-a-half stars; One-Star Wednesday for a movie that earns either one or one-and-a-half stars; Three-Star Thursday for a movie that earns either three or three-and-a-half stars; and Four-Star Friday for a movie that earns four stars.)

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY (2015)
★ (out of four)
DIRECTED BY Sam Taylor-Johnson
STARS Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan

FIFTY SHADES DARKER (2017)
★ (out of four)
DIRECTED BY James Foley
STARS Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan

FIFTY SHADES FREED (2018)
★½ (out of four)
DIRECTED BY James Foley
STARS Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan

Where to begin in tackling a movie as awful as Fifty Shades of Grey? Let’s be fair and consider that it was hardly a doomed project from the start. After all, Robert James Waller’s The Bridges of Madison County was one of the most critically reviled bestsellers of the 1990s (of the 20th century?), yet it managed to be turned into a fairly decent movie starring Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep. Could a similar act of alchemy be performed with this screen adaptation of E.L. James’ global smash?

No such luck. The allure of the book (which admittedly I haven’t read) is largely its sexual explicitness, yet that’s nowhere to be found in this eunuch of a film version. Universal had the opportunity to make history by releasing an envelope-shredding, NC-17 multiplex movie but opted to go with an R-rated version penned by Kelly Marcel, whose previous screen credit was — whoa, how’s this for cutting edge? — the Disneyfied Walt Disney flick Saving Mr. Banks. Lead actor Jamie Dornan, who stars as Mr. Grey, refused to go full-frontal for the picture — according to IMDb, “there were signed contracts in place to make sure his penis does not appear in film” — so there went any fulfillment of the viewers’ desire to wallow in Michael Fassbender-level nudity. Of course, being an American film, female lead Dakota Johnson frequently bares all, but the activities required of her and her co-star prove to be distressingly banal, unimaginative, and downright boring. This is a vanilla film that likely won’t even satisfy its target vanilla audience, all of whose members will be baffled at the emphasis on risible dialogue over the sex scenes they found so riveting in the print edition. Ultimately, there’s more chance of being aroused by watching two hyenas rutting on a nature channel than in seeing these two dullards attempt to get down and dirty. Compared to the chilly Fifty Shades of Grey, even A Minecraft Movie looks like a steamy hardcore porn flick by comparison.

OK, I exaggerate, but not as much as one might think. For those unaware of its premise, this finds the powerful businessman Mr. Grey catching the eye and libido of a college student named Anastasia Steele. She wants a romantic relationship, but this horny Homey don’t play that. Instead, he’s all about the BDSM, urging her to sign a contract that states she will become the “submissive” to his “dominant” and must obey his every whim, particularly when it comes to sexual matters. And thus the template is set for the excruciatingly repetitive dialogue that dominates the proceedings. “Be my sex slave.” “Why can’t we go on dates?” “I don’t operate that way.” “Well, OK.” “Be my sex slave.” “Why can’t we go on dates?” Blather, wince, repeat.

It’s obvious that no one involved with this project — and that includes the primary culprit, E.L. James herself — has much insight into how the BDSM community actually operates in the real world, which explains why the source material was a lightning rod of controversy among lifestyle practitioners. The film largely followed suit, since it tends to sometimes confuse “lifestyle choices” with “abusive relationship.” At any rate, the takeaway from the film is that these two clearly should not be together, that Mr. Grey is a moron for settling on this naïve virgin, and that Anastasia is equally idiotic for trying to fundamentally change a person who’s set in his ways. Compounding the problem is the simple fact that Johnson and Dornan have absolutely no chemistry, and while Johnson occasionally rises to whatever situation is at hand, Dornan is a zero when it comes to conveying mystery, sex appeal, brooding intensity, phallic fulfillment or basically anything beyond embarrassment.

James penned two sequels to Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed), and reviews of those film adaptations are below. Personally, though, I expect most viewers would have rather seen the filmmakers take this franchise in a different direction. How about Fifty Shades of The Grey, with the two vapid protagonists forced to contend with Liam Neeson and a pack of ravenous wolves? Or Fifty Shades of Grey’s Anatomy, with McDreamy demonstrating the kinky side benefits of a stethoscope and a thermometer? Surely any other plotline beats the one being used for what will doubtless go down as history’s first trilogy of snuff films, a franchise that threatened to kill not only careers but also strangle the basic desire of moviemakers and moviegoers to entertain and be entertained.

There are at least 50 reasons why Fifty Shades Darker is almost every bit as awful as Fifty Shades of Grey. Based on the second book in the bestselling phenomenon, this one finds Ana (Dakota Johnson) now working at a Seattle publishing house and Christian (Jamie Dornan) attempting to woo her back into his life.

The major liabilities of the first picture have been neatly carried over into this latest endeavor, beginning with the fact that the general prudishness permeating throughout American society makes it impossible for Hollywood to produce an honest, provocative or explicit film about S-E-X and have it receive an R rating. Therefore, like its predecessor (also R), this one will only titillate basement-dwelling fanboys who will illegally download it lest they be mocked for actually watching it and arouse bored suburban housewives who made the mistake of marrying dullards who are awful in bed. It’s another vanilla picture that fancies itself daring and erotic, but as is par for the course in stateside flicks, the penises are kept sheathed while the boobies bounce all over the frame. The casting of Johnson and Dornan also continues to hurt, as they have yet to muster any mutual chemistry.

Fifty Shades Darker attempts to add some narrative heft in the second half with an incident involving a wayward helicopter, but it’s a purely melodramatic device that brings to mind a lesser episode of Dallas, the sort in which Miss Ellie, Pam, J.R., and the rest of the Ewing clan anxiously await news regarding the whereabouts of Bobby. On the show, it would probably make for a three-episode arc; here, it lasts all of 15 minutes, making its insertion especially pointless.

There are a couple of homages worth noting. In one scene, Ana gives a speech to her secretary that’s the exact same one delivered by Melanie Griffith’s Tess McGill to her secretary in 1988’s Working Girl. Considering Griffith is Johnson’s mother in real life, I’m gonna assume this was meant as a tribute and isn’t an act of shameless plagiarism. And Kim Basinger is on hand — wasted, but on hand — as Christian’s former mentor and lover; given that the actress once starred in 1986’s controversial 9½ Weeks, another movie about potentially abusive sex games, this casting might have been a deliberate nod as well.

Some unintentional laughs help in getting through the rest of this mess. I love how circumstances — specifically, sexual harassment by a grab-’em-by-the-pussy boss named Jack Hyde (Eric Johnson) — force Ana to get instantly promoted from book reader to fiction book editor, whereupon she attends a company meeting and schools the Luddites on the wonders of the Interwebs. And I chuckled at seeing the poster for the Vin Diesel flop The Chronicles of Riddick hanging in Christian’s childhood bedroom. Granted, Universal Pictures is the studio behind both the Riddick and Fifty Shades series. But The Chronicles of Riddick? Not even Pitch Black but The Chronicles of Riddick? C’mon, Universal, not even Vin Diesel would own a  Chronicles of Riddick poster!

The third and final movie based on the international bestselling series by E.L. James, Fifty Shades Freed is the best film in the trilogy that began with 2015’s Fifty Shades of Grey and continued with 2017’s Fifty Shades Darker. Yet before we start popping champagne bottles in celebration, let’s retain the sobering perspective. Considering the general awfulness of this franchise, this is the equivalent of saying it’s better to lose only one finger rather than three in an industrial accident, or preferable to receive only a 10% salary cut rather than a 30% slash.

Still, blessings should be snatched wherever and whenever they appear, and it’s comforting to note that Fifty Shades Freed isn’t quite the excruciating experience as its forebears in foreplay. And for a series that fancied itself cutting-edge in its depictions of carnal knowledge but ended up being no better than those sleepy softcore romps that used to be play on late-night Cinemax on a regular basis, it’s amusing that there’s an actual scene in which vanilla ice cream is added to the vanilla sex.

That ice cream scene is preferable to most of the other ostensibly hot’n’heavy sequences in the picture, primarily because Johnson and Dornan actually seem to be enjoying themselves more than usual. One of the largest and rustiest nails in the coffin of this franchise has been the complete lack of chemistry between these actors, a near-insurmountable problem in a saga of this nature.

In this installment, Christian and Anastasia finally get married, but their happily-ever-after status is immediately threatened by the reemergence of Jack Hyde (Johnson), who’s jealous of Christian’s lofty status and seeks revenge via a series of badly thought-out schemes. Also rubbing against the couples’ eternal contentment is the fact that Anastasia is thinking about babies while Christian still prefers handcuffs to high chairs.

Fifty Shades Freed fares slightly better than its predecessors because it at least has what can loosely be described as a plot to give it some shape. It also helps that it’s the most unabashedly pornographic picture in the series. No, not in a sexual sense — as noted, this franchise is exceedingly mild, and filling out tax forms will probably offer viewers more of an erotic charge than any of the tepid and typically muted trysts on display. (As Philip Kaufman, director of the first NC-17 flick, Henry & June, famously noted about mainstream American cinema, “You can cut off a breast but you can’t caress it.”) Instead, the porn is of the material sort, the capitalist kind, the lifestyles of the rich and famous variety. YMMV, but it’s easy to imagine viewers audibly moaning over the beachfront vistas or the palatial estates or the sleek sports cars. These folks will need a cold shower to douse those libidos. Or they can simply watch the rest of Fifty Shades Freed.

(Fifty Shades 3-Movie Collection is now available as a 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray + Digital Code edition. The set contains both the theatrical and unrated versions of all three films. Extras include behind-the-scenes featurettes, deleted scenes, and music videos. This title can be purchased here.)