Sliver Me Timbers

Ah, the early '90s, a time when R-rated thrillers were a thing, Billy Baldwin was considered a sexy thing, and Joe Esztrerhaus could make millions of dollars by writing R-rated thrillers that let Billy Baldwin tease the world with showing his thing. 

Quick Plot: Carly Norris is a successful book editor and unhappy divorcee. Things perk up when her application for a fancy modern high rise is accepted. The only catch? She's inheriting the apartment of a late lookalike who was either depressed enough to leap from the 23rd floor or unlucky enough to be murdered there.

The neighbors are an eclectic bunch: a lovably nosy old man quickly befriends Carly before dying alone in his shower. A coke-headed neighbor seems to flirt with the same men Carly fancies until she ends up murdered, possibly by one of them. The suspect list is small: either Jack Thompson (Tom Berenger), an impotent mystery novelist (whose impotence is mentioned about 17 times over the course of 100 minutes) or Zeke (William Baldwin before the goblin transformation), a hot young video game designer who also happens to own the building.

It doesn't take too long for Carly to fall hard for Zeke. Together, they work out, have load acrobatic sex, and disgust fellow diners at fancy restaurants by throwing lingerie back and forth.

They are pretty much as insufferable as they sound, only more boring.

Oh! But he's also a voyeur who has planted hidden cameras inside every apartment in his building.

And yet, he's still...really...boring.

Let's get the first problem out of the way: Billy Baldwin is sort of kind of playing the Sharon Stone Basic Instinct role, only he's no Sharon Stone. More tolerable than Stephen, and yet still a far, far cry from Alec, it's hard to ever feel much of anything for his Zeke. It's not entirely his fault. Director Philip Noyce introduces him as a sort of charming rogue, only to rather quickly turn him into a mildly obsessive creep (though the movie doesn't seem to see that itself) and maybe vicious killer, or maybe not, or maybe ...well, the truth is, by the very end of the movie, I have no idea what I'm supposed to think of him or what he did or didn't do.

Sharon Stone's Carly fares mildly better, but possibly only because if nothing else, her character is best friends with Colleen Camp's gloriously loud-talking Judy (WHY ISN'T THIS MOVIE ABOUT HER?). As I said way back with the slightly less dull Deadly Blessing, the woman has always had star power that any camera adores. She does her best with an absolute nothing of a role, but it's a shame that following Basic Instinct, this was the best she could get. 

Noyce doesn't make an incompetent film, but he sure does make a stupid one. While everything you'll probably read about Sliver will focus on its voyeuristic obsession, the film takes a full ONE HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES before it becomes any real plot point. Worse, Sliver has no idea how to contextualize it in any way for its characters. Carly is disgusted when she discovers Zeke's habit for all of 60 seconds before she decides it's hot and something SHE'll be obsessed over until it becomes dirty and something she needs to make a grand statement against because huh? 

I won't get into the spoiler territory of the murder mysteries, only one (out of three) of which is officially solved (we're left wondering if one was an accident or murder, providing you remember anything that happens in this movie by the time you get done with it). The film is apparently very messily based on Ira Levin novel, which isn't surprisingly when you see that the screenplay comes from the pen of that sultan of class, Joe Eszterhas. Those looking for Showgirls levels of fun will be sorely disappointed.

Those looking for a heartbeat will be worried.

High Points

The only real saving grace of Sliver is its incredibly time stamped '90sness. Not only do we get the kind of darkly lit, partial-nudity containing sex scenes, but we're also gifted with choker necklaces, Pearl Jam references, and the very simple trick of having a character under 30 be a video game designer. Buy some Zima and have yourself one phat drinking game!

Low Points

Everything else?

Also, screw any movie that wastes the talents of the insanely wonderful Polly Walker, aka the underrated Rome's Atia and pre-Cersei Lannister evil goddess

Lessons Learned

Life is boring if you're not a dirty old man

Everybody has a telescope!

Women are usually not overly impressed when they first discover you've been filming them in the privacy of their apartment

If you don't want people to think that you're a murderer, wear something other than black ski caps when indoors

Rent/Bury/Buy

Oy. If you have a soft spot for sexy '90s thrillers, Sliver has a lot to offer. If you have standards for storytelling, Sliver is probably going to make you want to throw your underwear at the TV (not in a sexy way; more to make some kind of statement against VOYERISM or something). It's available to stream on Amazon Prime, and while I don't necessarily regret watching it (because I do not have standards when it comes to storytelling) I would never tell anyone I actually like to do so. It's stupid. But sometimes, that's okay (but seriously: this is stupid, and this is me speaking before the Jolly Rancher-spiked Zimas). 

Like a Virgin, Except Not At All

Commonly assumed to be a quick cash-in on Basic Instinct, Body of Evidence was actually in production before Sharon Stone's crotch opened wide on the big screen.

That doesn't make it feel any less like a quick cash-in.

Quick Plot: A millionaire with a heart condition is found dead in his mansion, cocaine in his bloodstream and handcuff scars on his wrists. The police and DA (Joe Mantegna) quickly discover said dead rich guy was dating a kinky golddigger named Rebecca, played by a pre-English accent carrying Madonna.

Eager to grab a big case, a lawyer named Frank (the eagerly naked Willem Dafoe) rushes to defend and, quite quickly, have ever so slightly sadomasochistic sex with Rebecca. Never mind that Frank seems happily married to restaurant owner Julianne Moore (in fairness, she has a bad haircut) or that more than one of Rebecca's exes has found himself in the hospital. This is MADONNA we're talking about.

Pre-Swept Away Madonna, in fact.

You're still not convinced that this isn't a Basic Instinct clone, are you? Truthfully, neither am I. Produced by the purveyor of class, Dino Delaurentis, Body of Evidence tries far too hard without really wanting to try hard enough. Yes, Madonna is naked and occasionally receiving oral sex in a parking garage, but because the film REALLY WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT IT'S KINKY, nothing actually feels kinky. 

Take, for example, Rebecca and Frank's first (of many) sex scene, wherein the camera ogles Dafoe's belt to aggressively foreshadow the fact that--SHOCK OF ALL SHOCKS--Madonna will use it to tie his hands behind his back. Excuse me for not warning you about this before divulging such a scandalous detail. I assume your monocle is now halfway across the parlor from the shock of it all!

I'm sure that in 1992, the script for Body of Evidence seemed dangerous and exciting. Unfortunately, nothing is less sexy than trying to be sexy (just ask Nomi Malone). We don't know enough about Frank to feel anything about his fall from sorta-grace, and the most we learn about Rebecca is that she likes to have sex with silver foxes like Frank Langella and is really good at lighting candles. At least Catherine Tramell wrote crappy novels.

High Points

Well, if anyone out there is a big courtroom drama fan, I'd hate to miss the fact that this film is filled with a ready-made drinking game to take a shot anytime an objection is raised, overruled, sustained, or side-barred

Low Points

Ah, the complicated politics of raping a woman who sorta asked for it, then didn't, then kind enjoyed it and eventually came back for more. Ick.

Lessons Learned

People from LA know their nipple clamps

People in Oregon know how to light an entire roomful of candles in just 60 seconds

Judges in Oregon don't tolerate gasping in their courtroom

Rent/Bury/Buy

Body of Evidence is streaming on Instant Watch, which is about the amount of work you should give yourself to see it. Less sexy than it thinks it is and not nearly as goofy as I'd like it to be, this is early '90s mainstream trash at its blahest. There are other ways to see Madonna naked, and a LOT of other ways to see Dafoe's Willem. 

A Basic Double Feature Instinct

Although I was an unabashed 10-year-old movie buff in 1992, I somehow avoided ever seeing the most controversial wide release of the year. This wouldn’t be so shocking if said film in question wasn’t directed by all-time favorite Danish import.

Despite the blind spot on my cinema brain that was Basic Instinct, my desire to finally watch Sharon Stone uncross her legs had little to do with any real curiosity. No, of course it didn’t. Me being me, I mostly wanted to watch this movie so that I could freely venture into far darker territory: its decade late universally maligned sequel.

One thing at a time:

Basic Instinct: In sexy San Francisco, a blond furiously ice picks her lover to death while riding on to her own orgasm. The detective on the case is none other than Nick, a recovering alcoholic smoker cokehead who’s obviously going to fall back on the bad habits of the elite because he’s played by Michael Douglas, a fine actor who can kind of ONLY play the type of white collar miscreant. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The chief suspect is the victim’s steady lover Catherine Tramell, a Berkley educated psychology major who now writes erotic crime fiction. Unless you were raised amongst the Amish the early 1990s, you probably know that Tramell is played by a post-Total Recall/Scissors but pre-Everything Else Sharon Stone as a sex-loving bisexual maybe sociopath who loves Hermes scarves but hates all brands of underwear.

It doesn’t take long for Catherine to take to Nick like my cat takes to moths, toying with his life and eating one wing at a time before becoming confused by the fact that it doesn’t actually taste good. Okay, maybe that’s Joplin and not Catherine, but the point is, Catherine starts worming her way into Nick’s life, people in Nick’s life start dying, fingers are pointed, genitalia is fingered, and we get to see what perennial brunette Jeanne Tripplehorn might look like as a blond.

Basic Instinct was quite the hit in 1992, a surprise blockbuster that sparked as many dinner party conversations as it did parodies. Viewed 20 years after its debut, the film doesn’t live up to its “Can you believe that!” hype, yet hasn’t necessarily aged terribly. The controversy regarding its portrayal of homosexual and bisexual characters as murderous villains seems petty today. Yes, all of its non-straight characters might indeed be killers, but that's because EVERYONE in Basic Instinct has blood on their hands. There's nothing homophobic about; it's just that in 1992, so few films featured gay themes that any high profile hit was grounds for praise or protest.

But I digress. Basic Instinct is what it is: a tacky noir that tries a little too hard to be sexy, but still emerges as a trashy mildly good time nonetheless. That’s mostly due to the fact that director Paul Verhoeven knows how to have fun behind the camera, and while her later career has its roadblocks, Sharon Stone absolutely nails the role of a sex-crazed sociopath who never met a man (or woman) she couldn’t manipulate.

Basicker Instinct: Flash forward an inappropriate amount of years to 2008, when Sharon Stone apparently REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted to revive the role that made her famous. Of course, a character isn’t all it takes to make a sequel. There’s the tricky matter of a script, director, and leading man…none of which seems to be overly valued in Basic Instinct 2.

The film opens in cold, clinical London as Catherine, still blond and horny, crashes a luxury car into the river while her drugged out soccer star boyfriend du jour pleasures her to his death. Detective Angry David Thewlis suspects her immediately, but court ordered psychiatrist Michael considers her only a risk to herself.

And of course, his sanity and free life.

Just like Michael Douglas’ unlucky Nick, Michael gets ensnared in his new patient’s web of games.  It doesn’t take more than a few steamy sessions for his ex-wife’s sleazy lover who was—whaddya know!—writing an expose on Michael’s past to turn up strangled, for Michael’s past oversights as an irresponsible shrink to come to light, and for Catherine to insinuate herself in everything from a professional dinner party to his ex-wife’s bed.

In Basic Instinct, it was hard to keep your eyes off of Sharon Stone’s Catherine. The actress took hold of the character with just the right balance of open of sexiness and confidence that you could understand why men and women fell into her trap like lemmings.

In Basic Instinct 2, it’s STILL hard to keep your eyes off of Stone, but that’s more to do with wondering just how many virgins spilled their blood to keep her skin as firm as it was when Bill Clinton was on his first presidential campaign trail. Stone LOOKS amazing and can still wear a barely-there little black dress like a superstar, but her 21^st century Catherine is no longer sexy: she’s just annoying.

“So. Is this where we’re gonna DO IT?” she purrs to Michael in his psychiatrist’s office with all the aggression of a kitten in anger management. Perhaps it was because she missed her old pal Paul Verhoeven, but Stone seems to channel Elizabeth Berkley’s Showgirls performance as inspiration for her over-the-top Catherine. What came off as sexy and daring in 1992 just feels forced and sad two decades later.

It doesn’t help that Catherine’s target is a pasty loaf of stale British scone bread. Actor David Morrissey doesn’t get a whole lot to work with but he also never finds anything extra to give. A scene that echoes Michael Douglas’ rough-sex rape-not-rape-cause-she-kinda-likes-it moment with Tripplehorn offers none of the shocking sexiness of the prior film. In this case, Michael brings home a colleague to have old fashioned missionary sex with her…until he spots Catherine’s picture on her latest book jacket sitting on his nightstand and then…and then…TURNS HER OVER TO TAKE HER FROM BEHIND.

I know, we should all be blushing. It’s positively INSANE.

And that’s the limit of Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction’s risk addiction. Yes, there’s an orgy, but somehow, it’s boring. I never thought I’d have to use ‘orgy’ and ‘boring’ in the same sentence twice in one year, but thanks to this and the otherwise good Night of the Scarecrow, it seems I checked one thing off my bucket list.

Directed by Rob Roy maker Michael Caton-Jones, Basic Instinct 2 could have been something truly memorable in a starstruck trashtacular Wild Things vein. Instead, it has this false confidence that it’s the sexiest thing of all time because its lead gets naked and constantly talks about it. But as Showgirls proved in such a more entertaining fashion, sex isn’t sexy when it’s shoved in your face.

Had Basic Instinct 2 understood that, it could have either a) finessed its dialogue or, more wishfully b) understood that it had the potential to be a camp classic. As it stands, I don’t see anyone hosting a midnight screening or dressing up like Catherine Tramell 2 for costume parties anytime soon. It’s just not fun enough.

High Notes

The first film features a pretty nifty car chase through a fairly crowded country road, the kind of car action that could actually HAPPEN behind the wheel of normal (if risk-loving) human beings

In 2, there’s one shiny spot and that’s Charlotte Rampling’s wise therapist. Without ever hiking up her designer skirt, Rampling is somehow more alluring and fascinating than a full frontal Sharon Stone

Low Notes

Aside from everything else about 2008 Catherine Tramall, the fact that the woman can’t read a No Smoking sign is just obnoxious. Step into MY office and light that cigarette bitch. I dare you.

Lessons Learned

Playing games goes with a degree in psychology

London streets are completely empty after dark

As you approach a very tense man who’s waving a gun with crazy in his eyes, try to avoid reaching into your pocket, even if you just want to return his keys or check for your parking ticket. Some gun-waving lunatics might get ideas that you don’t have time to disprove

Coke and Pepsi aren’t the same things

When your boyfriend is found murdered, the smartest thing you can possibly do is to call your ex-husband with a grudge before the police. Seriously, why would you even think about doing things the other way around?

The Winning Line

“Even Oedipus didn’t see his mother coming.”

I’m sure this is supposed to sound erotic. Really it just leaves me feeling bad for Jocasta’s sex life

Rent/Bury/Buy

Basic Instinct is a recommend, simply because of its place in pop culture. The DVD is loaded with extras, including making-of featurettes and an enjoyable commentary from the always fun Verhoeven and his Director of Photography, future Twister and Speed director Jan De Bont. Its sequel is ALSO heavy on the special features, but suffering through the main feature is a taller order than you might think. I ADORE bad movies, but Basic Instinct 2 commits the ultimate sin of awful cinema: it’s boring.