- Director: Michael Tiddes
- Writers: Rick Alvarez, Marlon Wayans
- Stars: Marlon Wayans, Kali Hawk, Fred Willard
Movie Review:
“Fifty Tones of Dark” follows the essential outlines of “Fifty Tones of Gray,” isolating six or even more of its most talked-about scenes for parody. But Wayans isn’t prepared to change his wide, manic, anything-for-a-laugh schtick to approximate the buttoned-down tightness of Jamie Dornan’s Christian Gray. As Christian Dark, the dapper entrepreneur of the ill-defined empire, Wayans starts the movie committing acts of serial thievery - an aspect of his character that’s immediately dropped - and goes on to account for the “six essential teeth” he lost smoking the crack he made his millions selling. Bondage fetish aside, his Christian is defined by whatever such random traits seem to pop into the filmmakers’ minds.
As Hannah Steele, Kali Hawk has significantly more in common with Dakota Johnson’s coquettish Anastasia, including the dowdy clothes, the beat-up Volkswagen and the part-time job at the hardware store, but even her modesty is amplified grotesquely. It’s not enough that Hannah is plain - she’s so ugly she shatters mirrors. And it’s not enough that Hannah is awkward - she crashes into doors and gets her head smashed repeatedly in elevator doors. Between pratfalls like these and the whippings and humiliation in Christian’s “playroom,” Hawk endures more abuse than Jennifer Jason Leigh in “The Hateful Eight.”
Mirroring the setup of James’ story, “Fifty Shades of Black” sends Hannah to downtown Seattle to interview Christian after her roommate, a journalist for the college newspaper, falls ill. The twist here's that her more sexually experienced roommate, Kateesha (Jenny Zigrino), is ill with chlamydia and behaves all the time just like a filthy castoff from an early on John Waters humor. Hannah and Christian do enough flirting in his office to quick a follow-up encounter at the hardware store, where they communicate their shared arousal on the pencil and a bundle of wire ties, respectively. Once Christian finally brings the virginal Hannah into his world of kink, she discovers his embarrassing shortcomings as a enthusiast and he discovers that her hunger for S&M surpasses his own. As it pertains time for you to negotiate a Tolstoy-length intimate contract, she will keep adding perversions that never happened to him.
Such smart little ironies are an issue in the movie, however the see-what-sticks approach does yield several hits for each 100 misses, including a rack of whips that reference those found in Hollywood slave dramas and Florence Henderson’s game turn as a dominatrix version of J.K. Simmons in “Whiplash.” Looks by such old hands as Jane Seymour as Christian’s racist adoptive mom and Fred Willard as her unsavory spouse are believe it or not focused on the jokes, however when those jokes nod tastelessly to Stand Your Floor or Dark Lives Matter or extreme intimate deviance, comic professionalism only can’t bail them out.
To get a spoof that cannot focus on its target for more than a few seconds at a time, the only consistent element of “Fifty Shades of Black” is its hostility toward women, who are condemned as either prudish or promiscuous. Wayans tries to counter Hannah and Kateesha by playing a sexually inadequate buffoon, but the movie makes their degradation an ongoing concern, aiming jibes at their disgusting, smelly bodies and punishing Hannah for assuming she deserves better treatment from her new lover.
The only possible excuse is that Wayans and company seems to have no evident control over what they want “Fifty Shades of Black” to be, other than a teeming repository of half-baked set pieces and pop-culture shoutouts. There are jokes about Bill Cosby and Wesley Snipes’ tax problems, a wink to Kim Kardashian’s “Break the Internet” photo shoot, and quotes from an assortment of Cuba Gooding Jr. movies. At few points will the makers of “Fifty Shades of Grey” feel the sting of Wayans’ satirical whip. He and his team are too easily distracted.
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