Fifty Shades Freed is now rocking a 9% on Rotten Tomatoes, but do not expect the critics to maintain this cash-magnet gender thriller (I am guessing?) down.
The concluding installment in E.L. James’ Fifty Shades trilogy lands in theatres Friday, and critics thrilled — for the last time — in ripping it apart.
Mashable’s Angie Han, for one, only wants to point out that no one in the movie is good at their job. Seriously. Not a one.
Here’s what others thought:
Notice: This post was updated as more scathing reviews roll in.
Kaitlyn Tiffany and Lizzie Plaugic, The Verge:
Jamie Dornan’s American accent sounds like he dipped his tongue at flushing fluid, which could very well be a survival strategy. His demeanor in every scene is that of a guy who awakened from a nap, except his nightmare is still going.
Chris Nashawaty, Entertainment Weekly:
“this is owned by You? ” she inquires as if chloroformed into a Kardashian fairy tale. “We own this,” he answers. Jesus wept.
E.L. James, 1; Feminism, 0.
Director James Foley (yes, the Exact Same James Foley who somehow once led Glengarry Glen Ross and then apparently lost a greatest with Satan)
Robbie Collin, The Telegraph:
The French title, Cinquante Nuances Plus Claires, includes a certain purring mystique that at felt very promising, however as far as nuances on screen were concerned, I counted zero.
This is a movie where one of the performances is given by a product-placement Audi.
Dornan fought valiantly with his dialog in parts two and one, but in this one he simply looks spent, playing his scenes using a stare that reminded me of rsquo & Cillian Murphy;s PTSD-stricken soldier at Dunkirk.
This 28-year-old playboy libertine with tastes proves to be big on Wings-era Paul McCartney. I give six months of marriage to him before he puts in a train set and clears out the S&M equipment.
Stephen Whitty, New York Daily News:
Tie me up, tie me down, make me watch movies that are bad.
Only no more “Fifty Colors,” please.
There’s the yield of an old flame a visit to Paris, and just a subplot about a architect. It goes — like the rest of the movie.
Are Hyde’s eyes red? Has he been crying? Can he read the script?
Dornan and Johnson never connect. She rolls her eyes like a adolescent. He stares at her like a cow.
Guy Lodge, Variety:
“this is owned by You? ” Anastasia inquires…“We own this,” her husband smirks in response, as the movie practically pauses for our applause, and perhaps a rosewater tear, in the shared privilege of everything. How far rsquo, they & ;ve come.
Foley, in his best a genre stylist using a border
Really, a sex-free, PG-13 edition of “Freed” could be cut without shedding a second of story coherence…
Manuela Lazic, Indiewire:
In cinema like in sex, a dose of self-awareness may do wonders.
Jack Hyde (Eric Johnson), whose motives remain vague and whose narrative arc is resolved in significantly less time than it takes Christian to untie his spouse’s ankle belts.
Jordan Mintzer, The Hollywood Report
However, in terms of drama, or melodrama, or just awful drama, Freed scarcely provides the merchandise while striving hard to give fans exactly what they came for. . .For good step throw in a butt plug.
Jack Hyde — discuss a personality name: Like Steele or Grey, its weight smacks you in the face with all the subtlety of a dildo.
Emily Yoshida, Vulture:
That is a trilogy about a charming, intelligent young woman with just the Ideal Quantity of self-awareness and sense of humor about herself, who happens to have a twisted kink for monogamy with the most boring guy on Earth…a girl who by all appearances has her head screwed on right and keeps coming back into the affluent void that is Christian Grey
Theyrsquo;ve gone and gotten themselves hitched, since that is the expression of romance these movies can envision, full with a Paris honeymoon and a sterling Eiffel Tower charm bracelet gifted within the Seine.
Vanity Fair, Jordan Hoffman:
We’re to believe a relationship that started with a contract of dos and don’ts enough for a line item on fisting think about children? ”
The nature of these movies, whose flimsy plots reach the definition of feature movies, recede till rsquo & we;re left with s crucial & rsquo; what sex scenes and luxury products.
Christian is a sentient slab of muscles using a card that is limitless.
Peter Travers, Rolling Stone:
Audiences are in for two hours of cruel and unusual punishment. . .Can sex, also referred to this as “kinky fuckery,” be this dull, this sanitized, this devoid of human curiosity?
Faster than the flick of a cat o’ nine tails, Fifty Shades Freed abruptly becomes a thriller with guns, car chases and last-minute escapes. It just so happens that the filmmakers are as incompetent at this genre as they are at creating heat that is erotic in Christian’s playroom.
There is absolutely no movie regardless, only a series of tableau that lack even the vulgar cost of porn. With any certainty, Dornan and Johnson can not go now. They seem as tired as we are.
Jeannette Catsoulis, The New York Times:
However, I & rsquo; m going to have to use my safe word if another sequel shows up.
Fifty Shades Freed hits theatres Feb. 9.