Misunderstood Masterpieces: Basic Instinct
Posted by Will Helm on 07.17.2003
… or, This Column Is Made of Real Imitation Leather
You know, I was thinking to myself recently that we haven’t visited the Misunderstood Masterpieces Hall of Fame in a while. Just a few days ago, Paul Verhoeven called me up; he spoke unintelligible Dutch at me, but I think he was trying to say, “I’m lonely! Please induct someone new so I can have someone to play with!” What can I say? I’m a sucker for lonely Dutchmen. Um…that sounded a bit wrong. Anyway, I thought to myself, “Who better to induct to join our friend Paul than one of his semi-frequent collaborators?” Actually I was wondering how the Hell Paul got my number, but the former was the second question in my mind. So, without further adieu, I bring you the second inductee into the infamous and indefatigable Misunderstood Masterpieces Hall of Fame: Joe Eszterhas. Come on down, Joe!
Perhaps one of the highest paid screenwriters in Hollywood history (a fact which should bring tears to anyone’s eye), Joe Eszterhas was born of humble beginnings in Csakanydoroszlo, Hungary. His family later moved to Cleveland, Ohio. Whether this was a step up is up for debate. (I’m just kidding Cleveland!) It was there where he was first employed as a writer for a major metropolitan newspaper. No word on if one of his co-workers had an attraction to telephone booths. He later turned to fiction, penning a few books and the story to the 1978 Sylvester Stallone masterwork F.I.S.T. Not content to stand on the laurels of an obscure labor-movement movie, Eszterhas also wrote the screenplay to the movie that made tastefully torn sweatshirts, iron-working, and overly artistic stripping de rigeur: Flashdance. He would later expand his writing to include convoluted crime thrillers like Jagged Edge, Betrayed, and Music Box. He later said to himself, “Gee, you know what the world needs? Nudity to go with their plot twists.” Hence, he fleshed out the scripts to the erotic/convoluted crime thrillers Sliver and Jade. Thrown in the mix one of many Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicles (Nowhere to Run) and some film named Showgirls. I think it’s about Vegas performers, but I could be wrong. His last offering, which pretty much cemented his place as one of the worst A-list screenwriters in the film industry, was the unbelievable flop An Alan Smithee Film: Burn Hollywood Burn; it seems that his titles had to become as convoluted as his plots in the end. It was a collaboration with Paul Verhoeven which made Joe Eszterhas a household name (if your household is populated with studio executives) and it represents the paradigm of the eroticism and insipid plot twists that make up the Eszterhas mystique: Basic Instinct. It also has some scene involving a skirt or something.
In the beginning, there was darkness. Then there was something being shown through facets of some sort. We get some credits too. Hey, guess who was the Director of Photography on this little gem: Jan de Bont. Yeah, the Speed guy. I guess Paul Verhoeven brought his friends over from the Netherlands. Good for him. Although, in that case, he shouldn’t be lonely. Anyway, we’re about three minutes in and already someone’s naked. Way to go Joe E! That’s a record for early-film nudity not seen outside of direct-to-video erotic thrillers. Not that I would know, of course. Nope. Anyway, I don’t even have Cinemax…so there. Back to the story: some naked blonde girl ties up some beefy goof with a silk scarf. I wonder if it’s a pashmina. Actually, I think 1992 is a little early for those. After some rather high-class bondage, naked blonde chick pulls out an ice pick and gives the guy the prick. I’m sure there’s Freudian implications and all that, but I don’t feel like looking it up. What can I say? I’m lazy…deal with it.
Who’s on the case, prowling the streets of San Francisco? None other than grizzled Detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas in all his leathery glory). He seems to have ditched Karl Malden a while ago and traded him for Det. Gus Moran (George Dzundza), an earnest-yet-loveable guy with an obsession for cowboys and a habit of calling Nick “Hoss.” I have no idea what a “Hoss” is, but I’m sure it’s something good…and leathery. Either Mr. de Bont or Mr. Verhoeven decide now is a good time to debut the nausea-inducing camera trick known as “spinny-vision” while we take a tour of the crime scene. The jaded veteran homicide cops make dirty jokes at the expense of the deceased and then someone refers to the dead guy as a “civic-minded, respectable rock & roll star.” I’ve seen contradictions in terms, but that’s just ridiculous. It turns out the dead guy has a girlfriend who may or may not be the killer, so off Nick and Gus go to…
…A big house with really noisy floors. They’re looking for Catherine Trammell, but they find some girl named Roxy (Leilani Sarelle), who’s just a sassy “friend.” Right. Sure. A “friend.” We all know how that turns out, don’t we guys? Guys? Roxy’s a lot like Secret anti-perspirant: she’s tough like a man, but sexy like a woman. As to which she is…that’s anyone’s guess. The Nick and Gus drive some more, making their next stop at a giant house on the beach, where the cops finally find Catherine (Sharon Stone). Catherine immediately plays mind games with the two befuddled investigators, proving that idle rich people need to get their kicks somehow. And when idle rich people need to get their kicks, usually someone ends up dead. That’s ALWAYS how it works out. Otherwise, there would be no made-for-Lifetime movies. One of Catherine’s mind games involves putting the movies on Detective Nick…I guess she has an attraction to leather. One good thing about her, though: she doesn’t mince words. I love a foul mouth on a woman. Figuratively, of course. Everyone should see a dentist at least every six months.
Back at the station, Nick meets with Dr. Beth Garner (Jeanne Tripplehorn), the sympathetic psychiatrist with the infinitely pouty lips. You know, there’s very few actresses in Hollywood that receive the recognition they deserve, and Ms. Tripplehorn is one of them. I suppose it’s because she lives in fear of the possibility that there may be a Joanne Quadruplehorn somewhere out there, with better acting skills and even bigger lips. It turns out that Beth and Nick used to be an item (I guess she likes the taste of leather too), but now we just get to learn about Nick’s masturbatory habits. And I know we all wanted to find out about that. We also discover that ever since Nick kicked the smokes, booze, and cocaine, he’s turned bitchy. See kids: mind-altering chemicals make you annoying. Take it from me, Weedy McJoint. You know, one of the reasons I would love to see marijuana legalized in the U.S. is just so that I can see their trade group’s mascot: a giant, talking joint. You just know it would happen, too. It’s the kind of thing that would make you wonder “Gee, I wonder what they’re smoking to think of that!” And then you’d instantly know the answer.
A little later, the cops learn that Catherine is not only rich, but smart as well. She’s a writer who’s last book was about murdering a rock star. There was no word on whether said star was civic-minded or not. While nerdy profilers try to figure out the plot so far, Assistant D.A. John Correli (Wayne Knight) shows up. Hello, Newman! Nick and Gus get sent back to Catherine’s to pick her up for an interrogation. It turns out that Nick has a bit of a past…he accidentally killed some tourists a few years prior. Remind me never to go to San Francisco; there are trigger-happy cops made of real Corinthian leather on the beat there. While Catherine’s getting changed, Nick takes some time to sneak a peek or two. Ah, murderer and peeping Tom. Truly a man of class. Catherine makes sure to play more mind games with Nick, alluding to the wonderful world of oral fixation. We learn that doughy Gus is a bit of a goof and suffer through an amazing amount of needless extreme close-ups. This becomes important in a few minutes.
And now, I present to you, my readers, THE interrogation. I’m sure you’ve heard about it somewhere. It begins with some not-so-witty banter, but Catherine helpfully explains that she has “nothing to hide.” Oh, little do they know. Correli becomes curious and, in turn, aroused by Catherine’s sexual proclivities. I guess things aren’t too good at home. We know that’s the case for Nick, who is even more curious than Correli. There are a few too many close-ups in this scene and then, at 27:30, IT happens. I know you all know what it is: The Crotch Shot Heard ‘Round the World. I could make a reference to carpets and drapes and all that, but that’s just beneath me. I am a man of refined tastes. We play dialogue Ping-Pong, Catherine gets strapped to a lie detector (and I bet she enjoyed it), and more nerds show up. This movie moves so slow. All those paragraphs for a HALF AN HOUR. Ugh! Head games sure are dull. Foreigner would so not be proud.
All this voyeurism can make a man thirsty, so Nick goes out for a drink. We all know this is going to turn out badly, don’t we? And wouldn’t you know it…one sip makes him conspiratorial. Luckily, there’s an Internal Affairs guy (Daniel von Bargen as Lt. Marty Nilsen) on the scene to hassle the increasingly belligerent Nick. Beth, our head-shrinking pal, shows up to save the day. She takes Nick back to his place where they have spontaneous rough sex. Then again, it doesn’t quite look like copulating; it looks more like them clumsily stumbling around. Nick gets off rather quickly, which is surprising considering his age and level of inebriation. For reasons that make sense later but make no sense now, Beth confesses that she and Catherine went to college together. She then gets all angry for some reason. I guess some women really don’t want to cuddle after all.
Nick celebrates getting some by taking up smoking again. He’s really going downhill quickly, isn’t he? Then again, that’s not hard to do considering how the streets of San Francisco are. He decides to follow Catherine into the World’s Most Unexciting Car Chase, while needless orchestration accompanies in the background. Nick harnesses the awesome power of his aviator sunglasses to catch up with Catherine. For that, he gives us a sneer. Although I think his face is in a state of perpetual sneer from the amounts of plastic surgery he’s had. Anyway, while we learn of yet more conspiracies, Nick visits Catherine and we also find out that she’s writing a book about Nick. Awww…how sweet. She turns the tables on our addiction-addled friend by interrogating him. Luckily, I think he is wearing underwear. Not that I would like to find out. Ugh! As the questioning commences, Catherine pulls out an ice pick and starts murdering some…ice. You know, sometimes you have to just think that Big Joe pulled out a big book of Freudian clichés when writing this picture. I mean, there are male-female penetration issues, penis envy, and the whole movie just seems to be obsessed with sex. Then again, what movie isn’t? And, true to form, Nick gets a little rough with Catherine and teases making out with her, but Roxy comes to the rescue. Oh darn!
Now sexually frustrated, Nick goes on a rampage and roughs up Nilsen and Beth a bit. I bet it’s the smoking. It couldn’t be the booze, as Nick goes on a bender and Beth shows up again to save him from himself. She’s really selfless, especially because she has to put up with Michael Douglas’s over-gesticulating in place of, you know, acting. Beth storms out and Nick falls asleep watching crappy horror movies. Somehow, Nilsen gets murdered and everyone thinks Nick did it. Great… more conspiracies. Nick gets interrogated by the police this time and, yet again, Beth comes to the rescue. She really ought to let Nick face the music one of these days. Wisely, the chief suspends the rapidly deteriorating Nick. Now that’s good police work.
To drown his sorrows, Nick has fun with Freudian allusions with Catherine, who has some terrible taste in clothes (including panties). There’s more ice cracking as I wonder if everyone in San Francisco buys ice in giant blocks. Catherine and Nick will never work out, though; he likes Pepsi, she likes Coke. Gus brings some pizza, but Catherine left, so he’ll have to eat it all himself. Nick, working the v-neck sweater, goes to a cheesy nightclub in search of Catherine, who is now a crappy mystery writer/cokehead/bisexual. She’s not a good dancer, though, but that doesn’t matter as she’s only dancing with Nick to make Roxy jealous. Honestly, I never understood that concept. “Ooh, I love you…now let me make you jealous!” Dumb. Catherine brings Nick home and they bump uglies. Well, one of them certainly is, what with leathery man-arse. I did not ask to see that, movie! Luckily, the viewer is treated to Catherine’s impossibly perky breasts…and I say “impossibly” because they stand up perfectly straight no matter what position she’s in. That’s just impossible! Anyway, Nick likes it rough and sloppy, but he gets freaked out when Catherine pulls out…a silk scarf! Oooh!!! All this was probably just to make Roxy jealous, as she likes to watch. How lovely.
After yet more sexual psychoanalysis, Nick meets up with Gus at a cowboy bar. Why? Is the movie trying to tell us something about Gus? Like maybe Gus is to Nick what Roxy is to Catherine. Now THAT would be a plot twist. And, unsurprisingly, Gus becomes enraged by the combination of drunkenness and repression; after sobering up, however, he too becomes a psychiatrist. There’s far too much of that in this movie. Outside of the diner, Nick gets some serious hang time as he gets hit by a car. Yet another car chase ensues and Roxy ends up dead. Beth brings some friends to talk to Nick about it, but he gets sick of the amount of psychology in this movie and storms off. I can’t say that I blame him.
It turns out that Roxy’s demise has made Catherine a little batty, but she’s probably more upset because her dead girlfriend wrecked her car. She and Nick have a little mourning sex and Catherine confesses that she had a lesbian stalker in college. Quite odd. We learn of more extraneous murders, as it seems that Catherine has a habit of befriending them. It also turns out that people who work at Berkeley are very snotty and that Catherine had an affair with Beth. What? So does that mean that…Beth’s the stalker? It’s finally time to play “To Tell the Truth,” as Beth now gets a little freaky with some help by our good friend Mr. Psychology. The Talking Heads would be proud right about here as things just stop making sense. Dear Mr. Eszterhas: It’s one thing to have plot twists, but it’s another thing to be so damned confusing. His reply: More rough sex! Enough already…you can’t cover it up with gratuitous nudity and salaciousness anymore! OK, maybe he can. He’s good like that. Especially when he has Catherine provide some post-coital foreshadowing. Oooh…scary.
So we’ve finally come to the tenuous conclusion that our good friend (and Nick’s eternal savior) Beth is actually a psycho-lesbian stalker and murderer named Lisa. Got all that? Good…there’ll be a quiz later. Catherine finishes writing her book and dumps Nick. Just when you think it sucks to be him, Gus come to the rescue (since Beth’s too busy being psycho and all). Unfortunately, Gus rewarded by an ice pick in the gullet. Nick is on the scene to comfort his gargling partner when Beth shows up for no reason. Nick shoots her. It makes sense, since she WAS dressed like a tourist. Nick (finally) goes schizo, but it turns out that Beth was the killer after all and Catherine has fallen for him. Of course, we couldn’t end this without yet even more sex! Whoopee. Oh, just so you know…there’s an ice pick under the bed. Hmmm…I wonder what that could mean?
In lieu of an actual conclusion (because I just hate saying “Goodbye”) I think I’ll have an interview instead. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the man without whom this film would not be possible: Sigmund Freud!
“Mr. Freud?”
“Yes?”
“You’re the father of modern psychoanalysis and one of the foremost icons of that field…tell me, please: just what is this film about?”
“How the F*** should I know?”
Ah, there’s nothing like sullying the good name of long-dead scientists in the name of humor…or filmmaking. By the way, Mr. Eszterhas, play nice with Mr. Verhoeven, clean up your messes, and enjoy your stay. You’re in the Misunderstood Masterpieces Hall of Fame!
