How bad does a film have to be for Joe Eszterhas to refuse to make it? How silly is it for a 50 year-old woman to strut around in skimpy outfits like a horny teenager? How untitiliating is it to see a nude 50 year-old woman pretending to be a 20 year-old woman, and how sad is it to watch? How unnecessary is this sequel? What does Sharon Stone’s pet project really have to offer? These questions and more can be answered if you’re willing to watch one of the most ridiculous films in recent memory. Or you could just read my review.
Basic Instinct 2
1 Star
In 1992 Sharon Stone broke into the big time with the lurid sex-thriller Basic Instinct. After years of struggle the hit allowed Stone to carve out a niche as the latest slutty tramp vixen (only latter to be dethrowned by the likes of Elizabeth Berkley and Krista Allen). Finally her career broadened and she moved away from those roles into some fine performances in good films (such as last year’s Broken Flowers). Sadly however she’s returned to the role that made her a star. Now at the age of 48 Stone loses both her clothes and dignity and shows us quite plainly that the studios were right to try to abort this baby before it ever saw the light of day.
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Author and serial killer Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone) is living it up in England seeking thrills, taking chances, and leaving bodies strewn in her wake. After her bad choice of mixing sex and driving causes the death of her latest one-night stand Catherine is taken in by Scotland Yard Detective Roy Washburn (David Thewlis) who wants nothing more than to nail her to the wall. He sends Cathrine to his friend Dr. Michael Glass (David Morrissey), who is hiding enough of his own skeletons for an entirely separate movie, for a full evaluation. Glass of course falls for the femme fatale and his world slowly disolves into crazy-wacko-funland-time.
Stone was guaranteed the right to make a sequel to Basic Instinct (despite the fact no one else wanted one) and over the past few years went as far to sue for the studio to produce this film. Problem is it took 14 years to get the film done and Stone is now 48 years-old and acting like no time has gone by. It’s hard not to notice the age of the actress and the rather inappropriate (and unintentionally hilarious at times) storyline for one such as Granny Stone to be starring in. Stone goes for all the same jokes: “arrest me for smoking?,” trashy outfits, spreading her legs (thankfully this time she straddles the back of a chair), performing various sexual acts in public for an audience, and seducing a troubled guy who actually has the power to stop her at any time but doesn’t because… she’s so sexy?? Problem is we’ve seen this before and the rehash never adds anything new to the stock formula nor works with an actress of Stone’s age.
From beginning to end the film is simply ridiculous. Nothing believable happens and the officers at Scotland Yard are even more inept at their jobs than the San Francisco cops from the first film. Seriously folks are you telling me the only competent cops are so mesmerized by her they just can’t stop her either? Flimsy plot twists involving a tabloid reporter (Hugh Dancy) digging into Dr. Glass’s shady past involving a former patient and Glass’ appoinment to a new position are meant to add some much needed story elements to the film yet they never come together or amount to much. And as for the sex and thriller aspects, they fail to obscure what is simply dreadful dialogue and writing; unlike the first film, this time when Granny Stone drops her clothes and writhes around it’s not sexy, it’s not titilating or erotic, it’s just plain icky and more than a little sad.
You into GILFs? If not pass this ridiculous absurdly retarded film by. It’s so lurid and seedy it makes softcore porn look respectable by comparision. Miss Stone please keep your legs crossed and your clothes on from now on. I’ve seen enough to know I’ve seen enough. The first movie was forgettable enough but this one just oozes all types of badness. Probles arise because director Michael Caton-Jones is no Paul Verhoven and writers Leora Barish and Henry Bean are no Joe Eszterhas (stop and think about that for a a second, realize I’m not saying this in a good way, and realize the imlications of this statement) and Stone simply isn’t the sexpot she was almost fifteen-years ago. The film was obvioulsy an attempt by Stone to recapture the glory of her most profitable years but the actuality of it will make you yearn for The Specialist and Sliver. The film is not entirely pointless as it reveals exactly how bad a film has to be for Joe Eszterhaus to refuse to make it – exactly this bad.
