Take a Drink: whenever Sharon Stone says something… sexy. Is that supposed to be sexy?
Take a Drink: for plot-dumping
Take a Drink: for each “callback” to the original
Take a Drink: whenever The Governor gets all aggressive
Take a Drink: for each coital murder
Take a Drink: for sex scenes that would make Fifty Shades of Grey seem classy
Do a Shot: when the title is said
By: Henry J. Fromage (Six Pack) –
There may be no clearer way to chart a career’s decline using only two points than Basic Instinct and Basic Instinct 2.
Sixteen years and the entirety of her A-list status later, Sharon Stone finally got a long sought-after second installment of what she for some reason thought would be a Basic Instinct trilogy. In her defense, Taken 3 exists. Anyway, her prolific evil genius sexpert has done it again- gotten a British soccer star killed in England via driving a car at 110 miles per hour (yes, the English cop says “miles per hour”- it’s that kind of script) into a harbor while wanking it. Things only get stupider from there as once again she lures an intense detective into a sexual cat and mouse game and writes a book about it. Yawn.
The filming itself is (mostly) competent enough in a NCIS sort of way. Also, David Thewlis apparently needed a vacation home Michael Caine-style, and Will Graham himself (Hugh Dancy) pops up for a minute. As far as Stone goes, her vampy camp skills have aged as well as silicone… as in very, but nothing else about the character has.
The chair’s to keep the bats in.
The movie starts off on an appropriately janky note with that car crash, complete with cheesy banter, editing that’s trying too hard to be cool, like every white rapper, and some seriously ropey CGI. Cheap. Cheap is how it starts.
The first film managed to deliver some convincingly hard-boiled dialogue with a dirty twist, and you can tell they’re going for the same thing here, but oh my, do they fail. When they’re not delivering exposition via fucking interminable three minute info dumps of the “Hey, let me tell you about your own past” variety, they deliver gems like this:
– I’m devastated… I may never cum again.
– Even Oedipus didn’t see his mother coming.
– You know how some guys are into blondes, and some guys are into killers?
– When you think about fucking me… and I know you do… how do you picture it… Doctor?
David Morrissey is no Michael Douglas. He’s more of an occasionally aggressive brick with one facial expression who acts like Charisma ax-murdered his family.
Charisma being the zombie stripper who also took his eye.
This movie is clearly the product of somebody who watched Basic Instinct‘s sexual mystery thriller and only took away one part of that. Unfortunately, their understanding of “sexual” doesn’t go much further than cheap Skinemax sub-erotica, and Director Michael Caton-Jones takes this all relentlessly seriously, unlike Verhoeven’s tongue-in-cheek approach.
Basic Instinct 2‘s worst offense is that it’s just goddamn boring. The twists fall flat, the tone is dull, and the plot’s a warmed-over rehash of the first film that can’t justify its existence. I mean, how may high-profile murder cases has this lady been a part of?
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me five times plus, shame on the screenwriter.
Basic Instinct 2 doesn’t even have the good sense to be campy bad. It’s just bad.