Review of Fifty Shades Freed (2018) by Pipec — 25 Apr 2018
One hundred and fifty shades as a lightweight and flat-footed alternative of melodramatic entertainment. It's possible to define the incongruousness, incompetence, absurdity, pedantry of this script in just one two-word line, which is paraphrased by the great actress Dakota Johnson through, sadly, the role giving her worldwide reputation. That affirmation takes place in the initial scenes of the film, where they want to celebrate a major event, and she said it with such insolence that is offensive: "Is it yours?" What? How is it possible that after a year and a half sleeping together in the same bed, an enviable salary and an almost-a-trillion-dollar grossing she doesn't know that she must stop talking nonsense, he's your husband now, you know he has tons of money, don't you?, with just one sentence, this film provoked an absolute suppression of a serious and rigid review, therefore, I simply sat down on that dark seat to capture blunders and blunders from the beginning of the action to the arrive of the closing credits, I survived miraculously. Normally, in my reviews I talk about performances in a positive way, i.e., if such a component isn't a strong point in the film I opt to omit it, however, most of the time I evaluated them since they are a fundamental part in the harmonious ensemble that made up a feature film. With surmised anticipation, "Freed" has broken the rule. I'm ready to write, with the utmost respect and humility, about Jamie Dornan, Eric Johnson and the remaining cast, except Dakota, who performed lousy characters, at least, that keeps it coherent. Likewise, the leading male character never loses that look of concern or that frown when some fatuous vicissitudes arise in the script, we never knew about which "fifty" shadows they've been spoken for more than three hours, he simply seems to be an eye-candy and something else. Dakota Johnson is the only one who impregnates a bit of love on her character, half-heartedly. All right, she's tender, naïve and unnecessarily submissive, but Johnson knows how to turn the card around and get the spectator to try to accept her motivations, an event that never happens. It's cumbersome and delicate to talk about this feature owing to its nature but it's a matter to discuss: the sexual scenes. It's not a secret that for many people the main motive inciting them (mostly young people) to attend a theatre is the curiosity to watch them surrounded by a considerable number of people, a couple having peculiar erotic relations, intimate acts portrayed on the screen smoother than the explicit and bawdy descriptions by the author in the books. Inside a tub, at Mia's, in red rooms, black rooms, cars or beds, any cliché and "coveted" place will have the shameful DNA of "Freed". Artistically, they aren't a feat of art, shots that focus on Anastasia's panting mouth or Christian's muscular back, arrhythmic sequences in which you can feel the lack of feeling between these actors, and even so Dornan claims that he made sure to make his co-star laugh in this kind of scene, I think it was in the final cut. Nor does it have much to brag about in visual terms. From Seattle cold landscapes to luxurious closed spaces, the movie is, almost entirely, locked in the city and in burdensome rooms, only a couple of scenes were filmed in a forest. Metallic colors predominate and a beautiful white is only glimpsed at the beginning, a necessary contrast of repetitive dark nuances. In a nutshell, visually, you expect on the screen, again and again, Johnson's breasts and the same black shoes that Christian wears in two different scenes.
Easily the best part of all this suffering: a fantastic musical accompaniment. And we don't talk about the work done by Danny Elfman, usual composer of the franchise, we refer (again) to catchy hits from artists such as Julia Michaels or Rita Ora and Liam Payne, who take part of a score that will be the next playlist for millennials for a while, electronic danceable sounds provide a kind of uninhibited tone to the scenes, the sad thing here is that even these songs are inserted in a wrong way. Christian closing the door of his red room in the face of his audience is a cynical sign of the little importance that the demanding public meant to this franchise. "Fifty Shades Freed" by James Foley finally says goodbye to the goose that lays golden eggs, bye bye melodramatic loves and dopey plot decisions, gone are those dark times, the light has come not only for the protagonist, also for the public. The short summary created by the flick in the third act, shows the abysmal decay that the movie suffered, simply to conclude with an ending as stereotyped as the film itself. The movie franchise was a very tough nut to crack, but Universal Pictures has broken hearts this Valentine's Day, because its great love, that lover which gave it exorbitant amounts of money, is gone forever, so they say.
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