25
Jun
The second Fifty Shades is flawed but easy on the eye, while Annette Bening gives the performance of her life as a single mother in 70s LAI don’t believe in the term “guilty pleasure”: if a film, however ropey, gives me pleasure, I’m not ashamed to concede that something about it is working. Still, the delight I take in Fifty Shades Darker (Universal, 18) pushes this attitude to its limit. The first film based on EL James’s potpourri-porn novels was surprisingly sly, pruning and embellishing the author’s lilac prose with something like irony. This follow-up, directed in gaudily gilded fashion…