Fifty Shades finale gets a dressing down
FIFTY SHADES FREED
DIRECTOR: James Foley CAST: Dakota Johnson, Jamie Dornan, Eric Johnson, Rita Ora, Luke Grimes, Victor Rasuk, Jennifer Ehle, Marcia Gay Harden RUNNING TIME: 106 minutes CLASSIFICATION: 16 LNSV RATING: ★✩✩✩✩
CLOSING the book on what’s arguably one of the worst film franchises in recent memory, Fifty Shades Freed doesn’t quite end with the bang one would hope for. Although, if by “bang” you’re thinking what everyone else is thinking, then there are definitely a few of those in this third and final adaptation of the best-selling EL James trilogy. And there’s even the bang of a gun going off at some point in the third act.
But in terms of drama, or melodrama, or just bad drama, Freed rarely delivers the goods while trying hard to give fans what they came for: more visits to the “playroom” for some lightweight sadomasochism, more eye-rolling plot mechanics involving Christian Grey’s troubled past, more reactionary views on love and marriage, more money shots of sports cars, private jets and holiday homes that only the 1% can afford, and more attempts to turn what may be one of the duller couples to ever grace the screen into two captivating characters.
Seriously, is this the best we can offer adults who don’t want to watch Marvel movies? Given that the Fifty flicks have so far grossed nearly $1 billion (R12bn) worldwide, the answer seems to be yes. This instalment should likewise draw a good crowd, although perhaps less than the other two films, as viewers begin to grow tired of the same old bedroom routine.
When we last left the filthy-rich Grey (Jamie Dornan) and his paramour Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson), they were on the verge of getting married. Freed, whose script was written by Fifty Shades Darker scribe Niall Leonard, begins with their glorious wedding, followed by a honeymoon that includes stops in Paris and the Cote d’Azur. At one point during the trip, Christian gets a little rattled because Ana wants to go topless on the beach, but that dispute is quickly resolved when he whisks her back to his giant yacht and takes out a pair of handcuffs.
Back in Seattle, the two settle into their new roles of husband and wife, although Ana wants to keep her job in book publishing and refuses to be constrained the way Christian would like. As in the other movies, it becomes a question of how much she will let herself be dominated – “You can’t keep me in a cage,” she tells him early on – in a relationship that, despite all the bells, whistles and bondage straps, is actually as traditional as they get. It turns out the big issue is that Ana may want to have a baby and Christian isn’t quite ready for it yet. Wait, who’s supposed to be “freed” here?
The rest of the plot is driven by Jack Hyde (Eric Johnson), Ana’s former boss who is now seeking revenge on the Grey couple. Why he does so is revealed very late in the movie. Before that happens, we have to believe that Hyde, a man who used to be a fiction book editor, has now become an expert in corporate sabotage, burglary, blackmail and kidnapping. It’s so poorly handled that it’s laughable.
What this all adds up to isn’t much, and the film’s race-against-the-clock finale has the creative suspense of a TJ Hooker episode. Director James Foley seems to take little interest in this material beyond applying an extra level of gloss to each shot, with the production team going overboard on the BDSM and bling. Never has a drawer filled with vibrators looked as elegant and fanciful as it does here.
Johnson and Dorman do their best with the material as well, and at least for the former’s sake Ana Steele has a minimal sense of humour and a bit of life to her. Christian Grey is such a bore that Dorman seems to be doubling down on the stiffness and gives his line readings like he’s reciting from a Teleprompter. For a man who can buy anything he wants, Grey should maybe try investing in a personality.
For the many erotic titillations the Fifty Shades films advertise, their approach to sex has always seemed way too aseptic, like we’re watching two people make love with rubber gloves and a bottle of hand sanitizer. Can’t they just let loose a little bit, instead of playing by some supposed guidebook that involves expensive toys, safe words and what seems like zero spontaneity?
The kinkiest scene in the whole series is probably one that occurs about halfway through Freed where, after a bout of insomnia, Ana and Christian decide to get busy in the kitchen with a tub of vanilla ice cream. They actually look like they’re having fun for once, which is not such a bad thing in what’s meant to be a love story. But in terms of, er, last licks, it comes as too little, too late. – Washington Post