The most liberating thing about Fifty Shades Freed is that it doesn’t even try to make sense of Christian Grey.
This is a film in which Christian Grey owns a pommel horse and gives no indication that he wants to have sex on it.
The apparent moral of the story? We are all Madonna. So grab your grillz and start humping the nearest wall.
Dornan somehow manages to render his sculpted beauty moot, which throws a major wrench in the gears for a film dependent on eroticism.
Five respectable, if not especially revelatory, nominees; no controversy.
What could have been a spirited dissection of Jay-Z’s optimistic enterprise is instead merely an advertisement for it.