I should perhaps confess at the start of this review that I did not walk into ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ expecting to be entertained. I generally attempt to leave any cinematic prejudice behind me as I enter a screening and view each film with a relatively objective head; sadly, this was impossible as I solemnly trudged in to watch the second part of E.L James’ bondage for beginners opus. The reason for my lack of critical neutrality on this occasion was the still reeking memory of part one, 2015’s ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’, a movie which holds the dubious accolade of receiving my lowest ever rating, a pitiful zero point five Pauls out of Critoph. This franchise opener was without a doubt the most tedious two hours I have ever spent in a cinema; an excruciatingly boring crawl through the unconvincing love lives of two self-absorbed personality voids. The acting was stiff (no innuendo intended), the script was laughably un-laughable and Sam Taylor Johnson’s direction was lifeless and static. How this sequel could be anything other than a painful case of history repeating was beyond me. It therefore surprises me to announce that I despised ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ to a much lesser degree than I’d been expecting to.
This is not to say that I wholeheartedly enjoyed the film. It still suffers from numerous flaws, which I shall explore in a moment but at least the franchise has progressed from multi-sensory poison to something approaching merely mediocre. The plot picks up an undisclosed time after the events of the first movie with our whip scar crossed lovers currently single. Anastasia has somehow acquired a dream job at a publishing house whilst Christian is still being a strange, stalky, serial killer in the making. After a truly surreal scene of “renegotiating the terms” of their relationship, the couple are happily reunited. And then the film continues for another hour and forty-five minutes.
This is the first of my grumbles about ‘Fifty Shades Darker’; not a lot happens. Or at least, not a lot happens which has a lasting effect on the characters or their overarching story. It is here that the movie’s origins in poorly written schlock fiction are evident. It is entirely possible to see exactly where the chapters of the book begin and end in this adaptation. It strikes me that E.L James is the kind of author who has been told that something dramatic should happen in every chapter; however, she is not talented enough to give these events any overriding impact on the narrative. This leaves the film peppered with unsubstantial vignettes of peril or intrigue that are forgotten by the characters within minutes of occurring. After the third or fourth of these events any sense of dramatic tension is forever lost, giving a third act helicopter based episode a farcical sense of parody. E.L James’ clumsy literary missteps do not end there. There are many ways to progress a story but amusingly ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ finds one that it likes and uses it repeatedly; namely Christian Grey looking intensely at Ana and saying “I need to show you something” before whisking her off to the next part of the plot. This device is used several times in the movie and could possibly be the corner stone of a ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ drinking game in the future. (Fifty Shandies Darker? I apologise.)
Looking back at my review of the first film I can’t help but think that I was a little bit harsh with my criticism of the two lead actors, Dakota Johnson in particular. Regarding her performance, I said, “Her Anastasia is an irritating, anti-feminist mouse; a brow beaten human sigh who deserves neither the audience’s interest nor pity.” I have updated this opinion. Whilst it is true that her character has the innate charm and lovability of a fart trapped in a packet of peanuts, it is not her fault. Johnson has an uphill swim against a deluge of dated gender bias and inconsistent, irrational character traits sent flowing from the pen of E.L. James. Considering the source material, she is to be commended for a thoroughly decent attempt to make Ana a believable character; her shrewish vulnerability goes some way to achieving a rounded persona. The same goes for Jamie Dornan as Christian, who is able to imbue an unsympathetic character with something approaching heart. The film is directed with workman like determination by James Foley. His box of visual tricks is a small one but he handles the lumpen pages of night soil masquerading as a script with efficiency if not flair.
I suppose one of the major things to consider when deciding if you should pay money to see ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ is what you are attempting to get out of the experience. Ultimately, it is an adaptation of a piece of erotic fiction which was treated by the majority of its readers as humorously disposable. If the film version can replicate that mild thrill for its fans then it must be doing something right and I can report that the sex scenes in the movie, of which there are many, contain a little more fire and spice than the cold porridge found in the original. True, Christian Grey is still the Master of Missionary and all the scenes fade out after roughly a minute of panting but my scholarly intuition tells me that there is enough sensuality on display to sate its desired audience.
‘Fifty Shades Darker’ is a bad film based on the writing of a terrible, terrible author but it is also an improvement. The first film was irredeemable; a soul draining test of boredom and stupidity and I had feared and read that this sequel was worse still. Thankfully this is not the case. From the pile of steaming dung that was the original, a partially digested seed has begun to germinate. It is still technically shit, but it holds the promise of better things. What is more, whether by virtue of cinematic Stockholm syndrome or by unexpected sweetness, the finale was just about able to soften my heart and almost make me warm to the paper-thin automatons on the screen; something I would not have predicted on entering. (Innuendo intended.)
I give Fifty Shades Darker four Pauls out of Critoph.
The Critoph Factor 