Since 2022 is Basic Instinct's much-ballyhooed 30th birthday, a brand new 4K restoration package is scheduled for U.S. release this June. However...upon discovering that the new Blu-ray set is already available in Europe, I immediately ordered it from Studio Canal. And, boy, oh boy, does it look amazing! In fact, it looks much better than I remember it looking way back in 1992 when I first saw it. Of course, Jan de Bont's exquisite cinematography is a highlight of this new restoration--the luxe life of San Francisco and Marin County never looked better! But, it's the more intimate sequences--Sharon Stone's notorious, underwear-free interrogation in the police station, for instance-- that appear much brighter now than they originally seemed to be. Now, you can plainly see (despite denials from Jan de Bont) that object of holy-roller horror which remained concealed by shadows in the version I first saw at the movie theater. There are a few other scenes, too, that I don't recall being quite so vivid back then, but, alas, my memory is not as vivid as it once was, either. In any case, I figured the film had been edited for American audiences, or at least those in more conservative areas of the country (I saw it in Oklahoma City). In an interview included with this new release, director Paul Verhoeven confirms that, indeed, one version of Basic Instinct was created for American audiences, another for the European market. Aha, just as I suspected!
If you've read this far, it should go without saying that there is a lot of sex in Basic Instinct. A lot. Although I don't find most of it to be particularly erotic. For one thing, the positioning of stars Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas during some of their naughty bits looks extremely awkward and unnatural, at least from the casual observers point of view. I mean, Ouch! I concluded that some of those ecstatic expressions must actually be grimaces of pain.
And, of course, there's the killer's weapon of choice--an icepick--ever-poised to make a comeback from among the crumpled bedsheets. We know it's there--somewhere. Hell, Michael Douglas knows it's there. Definitely not a mood-enhancer for me but then I'm not Michael Douglas. The potential lethality of his bedmate is catnip for Douglas' character: the danger is not beside the point, it is the point.
Actually, he is such an utterly irredeemable creep in this movie that you might find yourself rooting for the killer. Example: even before he beds Sharon Stone, he flies into a rage and viciously rapes his therapist/ex-lover (Jeanne Tripplehorn) in an egregious scene that I found more disturbing than anything else in the movie. Of course, since virtually everyone in this movie suffers from some sort of cranial derailment--for instance, there are multiple multiple-murderers on hand for your viewing pleasure--Tripplehorn's character passes off this assault as business-as-usual and then fusses adoringly over Douglas in the office the next day. Did I miss something? Nothing to see here, he was just letting off a bit of steam, move along, please.
Michael Douglas has always excelled at playing morally off-kilter men. With his hard, patrician features and steely gaze, jaw firmly clenched and set to restrain scarcely contained urges, his characters have hidden depths that often conflict with his blandly upscale facade. Whether lustily leaping aboard a leading lady or violently taking down a hated rival (ala Viggo Mortensen in the less-than-perfect A Perfect Murder), he can (or could) go from 0 to 60 in less than a second. To his credit, he also does verklempt really well, especially when he's sweating bullets over his torturous infidelities (Fatal Attraction) and/or perilous financial straits (The Game, Wall Street). In Basic Instinct he utilizes all this actorly savvy to very good effect. Playing San Francisco detective, Nick Curran, he is charged with investigating the extremely brutal murder of a former rock star, recently turned into a block of Swiss-Cheese by an icepick-wielding blonde during a bit of sexual congress in the grisly opening scene (see below).
Having a more-than-passing acquaintance with drug- and alcohol-related issues, and gunshot fatalities marring his resume, Curran is already tip-toeing a precarious path to redemption when the movie begins. It's no big surprise when he diverges from the path after meeting fabulicious femme fatale, Catherine Tramell (Stone), a superrich heiress and successful crime novelist who also happens to be the dead rock star's frequent booty-call and the prime suspect in the murder investigation.
While Michael Douglas may have been THE BIG STAR NAME-ABOVE-THE-TITLE in Basic Instinct (believe it or not, he's surprisingly studly too), once Sharon Stone enters the picture, he is relegated to secondary status. Stone commands the audience's attention in every scene she's in: you can't look away from her. In fact, she inhabits the character of Catherine Tramell so completely that it's inconceivable anyone else was considered for the role (the preferred stars, Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan, Michelle Pfeiffer, Geena Davis and Kathleen Turner--among others--all turned it down before it was offered to Stone). Catherine's demeanor is so deadly calculating, cool and calm--she is the most enigmatic of movie anti-heroines--you'd never suspect that, behind the scenes, the actress playing her was wracked by nerves and self-doubt (according to interviews on the discs). It's a perfect combination of the right actress playing a once-in-a-lifetime role that seems to have been written especially for her.
After Catherine's entrance, the movie moves along briskly. As more deaths occur and Nick re-embraces his old vices, he falls deeper under his prime suspect's spell, sharing her bed while remaining convinced that, somehow, he'll nail her for her crimes. Nick, as it turns out, is not all that bright, but, bad though she may be--and she is bad to the bone--is Catherine really a murderer? And even if she is, will there be anyone left alive at the end to hold her accountable? That's the gist of the film and, seeing it again after all these years, I'm still not convinced that all the murders in Basic Instinct can be attributed to the icepick killer. Characters foolishly withhold vital information at their own peril (I'm looking at you, Jeanne Tripplehorn!), and red herrings abound. There remains a certain murkiness even after Jerry Goldsmith's fabulous score wells up, ending the movie with a hint of things to come.
Joe Eszterhas's one-draft script of Basic Instinct (allegedly written in 13 days, for which he received $4 million) is often maddeningly illogical, and, what with the Me-Too movement, that rape scene seems even more problematic today than when it first came out. Regardless of whether or not Paul Verhoeven and Joe Eszterhas meant for Basic Instinct to be empowering to women viewers (as has been suggested), Sharon Stone's iconic performance could be viewed, with some validity, as a response to the "just grab 'em by the pussy" mentality that pervaded Hollywood, and just about everywhere else, until very recently (if I'm not being overly-optimistic).
The LGBTQ furor over the portrayal of lesbian/bisexual characters is understandable given the times, although looking at the film now, I don't think Verhoeven's intent was to demean that portion of the population. Generating controversy was more likely his aim, and it worked: Basic Instinct was the 4th highest grossing movie of 1992. Still, the specter of death hovers over all the female characters depicted in the movie, and it's certainly no coincidence that they're either lesbian or bisexual--the fact is integral to the plot. However, the fact that Paul Verhoeven and Joe Ezsterhas unleashed Showgirls on the American public just a few years later is, surely, the pair's more grievous offense.
There are some interesting performances by supporting actors. Oscar-winner Dorothy Malone (Written On the Wind) and Leilani Sarelle play two of Catherine's beddy-bi gal-pals--among other things, Catherine does not discriminate on the basis of age, either--and Seinfeld's Wayne Knight ("Newman") licks his lips and sweats profusely as one of Catherine's jailhouse inquisitors. In her film debut, Jeanne Tripplehorn seems game for anything and, as the police department shrink, gives it her best shot. But the role is shoddily written and does her no favors. George Dzundza who, for some reason, I thought was a former NFL player, is cast as Curran's fellow cop and best friend. He's supposed to be the regular guy and provide the film's voice of reason. But, ugh. Ugh! He's so loud, obnoxious and abrasive that I was scarcely disappointed when he finally ran into the icepick (10 times!).
All that being said, Basic Instinct remains--in my opinion--a vastly entertaining film that stylishly (if not substantially) embodies the 90's with copious amounts of sex, nudity, blood and gore. True, if you are looking to be offended, there is ample material in the movie to do the job. Several times over, in fact. But, if you want a thrill ride with gorgeous scenery and only occasional lapses into good taste, this movie may be for you: it's far more fun that it has any right to be.
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