Believing they have left behind shadowy figures from their past, newlyweds Christian and Ana fully embrace an inextricable connection and shared life of luxury. But just as she steps into her role...
Fifty Shades Freed is no longer shackled to the restraints of kinky handcuffs, it’s worse. Christian Grey. Anastasia Steele. Married. Yet at this point in the “groundbreaking” trilogy that bends the limitations of soft-core pornography within mainstream entertainment, who frickin’ cares? I mean honestly. BDSM? Badly Designed Sexual Manipulation. I get it. It’s sex. It’s all about that glorious penetration that middle-aged mothers crave. But flippin’ heck. Every ten minutes? Food-play, vibrators, in bed, in the super car and chained to a bondage wall. Fortunately, Christian only has to touch Anastasia once before she encounters a raging orgasm, so these scenes accompanied by cringeworthy pop songs don’t last long (thank. God.).
But if we’re talking about storyline, then I’m going to reuse one of my most infamous lines from the first review, because I’m lazy much like the screenwriters were. I’ve seen more substance in a used condom. Oh, something that Christian clearly hasn’t heard of, and is then surprised to learn that she becomes pregnant and has a temper tantrum? Wrap that willy! Or better yet, pull out! The plot in itself contains so many narrative fragments, including arguments over email addresses, an abduction and home invasion, that they simply act as causeways for the sexual lovin’. Even the pedestrian car chase straight out of ‘Fast and Furious’ ended with sex. Jeez. Wear a chastity belt or something! The story is a complete snooze-fest. Nothing happens!
Johnson and Dornan do not care. They don’t! The acting had less tones that a stimulating vibrator. He gets possessive, she dislikes it, they penetrate and the whole cycle repeats again. Did Johnson really lick his pubes? And did they honestly lather themselves in ice cream just to lick it off? Talk about unsanitary. I will say (and I can’t believe I’m about to hand a compliment to this film) that Mia getting tied up provided palpable tension. Wow! The sheer dedication to that performance was incredible. *cough* But when Rita frickin’ Ora is the best aspect of a film, something is obviously wrong. Wait! Scratch that. Goulding’s “Love Me Like You Do” playing to a montage of scenes from the trilogy. Oh my word! I was howling! A taut reminder that you (yes, you!) put yourself through this torturous endeavour. “Don’t miss the climax”. Ha ha ha! I can’t. It’s too good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower myself in acid. I feel dirty...
