Unhinged exes, and helicopter crashes, and opulent parties and my, oh my! The follow-up to the Fifty Shades franchise throws everything it can possibly pack inside inside its oversized package as if it were an entire season of absurd of guilty pleasure television. Just when you think Fifty Shades Darker is winding down, another urgent development takes over like a catastrophe. Plausibility is out the window with one too many absurd subplots, even at the expense of a silly good time. Darker just isn’t the guilty pleasure entertainment you would hope for, only occasionally becoming a fun lobotomy of enjoyable nonsense.
Shouldn’t this at least be a lot more fun? Or even a little bit more sexually subversive? The sequel barely remembers to allow us to delight in the trash and excess of what should be a sexy escapade. Even its several sex scenes become repetitive without even being sexy on a surface level, barely even interesting with its kinky moments no matter how much Grey and Anatasia compromise their sexual boundaries.