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Stone reprises her role as blonde novelist Catherine Tramell, a vixen with a nasty habit of leaving her lovers dead and then toying with the authorities as to her guilt. This time, since Michael Douglas opted out, Tramell finds herself relocated from San Francisco to London and under the evaluation of psychiatrist Dr. Michael Glass (David Morrissey, coincidentally married off-screen to the great-granddaughter of Sigmund Freud) after she proceeds to drive her latest boyfriend into the Thames River under, er, fishy circumstances. Soon enough, she manages to get his knickers in a twist between a personal scandal, her rampant seduction of him and just about anyone else willing, and a trail of victims that inevitably leads back to everybody’s favorite trollop, Tramell.

All Stone has to do is strut and pose, which she accomplishes with all the rigidity one could only expect from an aging vamp such as herself. Unlike every other character, each line that passes her lips immediately takes on a second-hand seductive quality, even if she’s the only person on the planet to speak solely in innuendo (oh, believe me, I’ve tried). She practically orbits a black hole larger than her own in Morrissey, who isn’t so much doing anything wrong as not doing anything at all. Then again, the filmmakers seem more concerned for getting a stiff rod for Stone to hiss at, scratch at, and thrust at, so he fits the bill. However, one could only blame the pull of a collapsing gravitational field to justify the appearance of seasoned English actors David Thewlis (The New World, the Harry Potter franchise) and Charlotte Rampling (Swimming Pool) as a cop and colleague, respectively.

Director Michael Caton-Jones (City By The Sea, The Jackal) and writers Leora Barish and Henry Bean attempt to throw together some semblance of a psychological thriller on which to establish a rhythm of murder and moaning. In this seedy underbelly of London, our protagonist works out of a rather phallic building, reads scandalous stories with outrageously convenient pulled quotes, and finds every other chance to spout out the phrase “risk addiction,” which is not only his professional assessment of Tramell’s mentality and the film’s former subtitle, but doubles as yet another source of unintentional giggles. (Drinking game, anyone?) Matters are eventually capped off with a half-hearted stab at a twist ending, but by that point, everyone is screwed to some degree.

As opposed to indulgent junk food like the 'Final Destination' franchise, perhaps a new 'Basic Instinct' installment should appear about once every decade or two, in an continuing effort to educate new generations on the consequences that delusions of talent can have on both a movie and a career. Hell, maybe they should just keep going if only so we can see how Stone holds up. Literally. She’ll boggle the mind. We’re talking Best Visual Effects Oscar potential here.

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originally posted: 05/22/06 19:31:05
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