Fifty Shades Freed

This trilogy is the film equivalent of bad sex. Part 1 was awkward foreplay. Part 2 went through the motions with monotonous moves. And now, Part 3 reaches a clumsy climax that's so obviously fake that you just want it to end.

'Don't miss the climax,' the ads declare. What climax? Fifty Shades Freed falls flat of even reaching a plateau, just flailing around on the floor instead.

Ever wondered what The Room or Birdemic would have looked like with a boardroom of producers and a $55 million budget? Here you go.

The romance of Fifty Shades has no sizzle, the melodrama is not dramatic, and the sex - to put it frankly - is not that sexy.

If ever a franchise were crying out for the female gaze - surely this is it? If only Sam Taylor-Johnson had been given the creative control she desired and stayed on the franchise, we may have ended up with something of better quality.