Fifty Shades Darker

I'll give Fifty Shades Darker this much, at least: The sex scenes are OK.

Fifty Shades Darker is not darker or better. It's watered down, raincoat-brigade style erotica, even with the spiced-vanilla S&M.

Fifty Shades Darker, which fails so many tests of basic storytelling competence, is all the more stunning for its success at a task that most movies don't even bother attempting: depicting a woman's sexual pleasure.

Even someone with Johnson's considerable charisma can't get any heat going with a block of wood like this. Actually, to call his performance wooden is an insult to wood, which is a fine natural resource that demonstrably makes our world a better place.

Nothing ever feels alive in this film. It's a couple of automatons acting out a play that was based on other plays, that was based on other plays, and so on and so forth.

The story of a woman who gives her man better values and a man who gives his woman better clothes, both of them suffering so much for a little bit of nookie.

Intended to be a continuation, this sequel seems more like an unnecessary prolongation. [Full review in Spanish]

Aided by one of the worst climaxes in film history, Fifty Shades Darker fails in every possible way.

This will be a great film to watch on mute.

It's a vanilla picture that fancies itself daring and erotic. Honestly, viewers will likely find more sexual currency in The LEGO Batman Movie than in this picture.