Since it's Sunday (and I don't feel up to writing anything new), I think it's the perfect time for another edifying selection from Subliminal Cinema: Life Lessons From Lousy Movies. So, here is the first part of our chapter on erotic thrillers.
Sex, Lies, and Direct-To-Videotape:
The Rise and Fall of the Erotic Thriller
The Age of Erotic Thrillers officially began in 1987 with Fatal Attraction, the movie that taught women to more openly express their sexual feelings through boiled rodents. But the genre really took off in 1992, when Joe Eszterhas’s Basic Instinct captured the public’s attention, as Sharon Stone’s pantyless pudenda and Michael Douglas’s flabby buttocks competed in a "Survivor"-style test of the audiences’ gag reflex. This triggered an explosion of movies starring women named Shannon, or occasionally Shauna, usually with the word "Body" in the title.
But by 1995, the trend was pretty much over--we saw the end of the Body Chemistry series, the Body Of Influence series, and even the venerable Night Eyes series, forcing Shannon Tweed and Andrew Stevens to find work which involved wearing clothes, even on casual Fridays. While there were still a few Erotic Thrillers being made for the direct-to-cable venues, these starred Julie Strain instead of Sharon Stone and Joe Estevez instead of Michael Douglas, which—on the Hollywood Food Chain—is roughly at the level of those microbes that live in your intestines and convert metabolic wastes into Vitamin K.
And yet, any genre which held society in such thrall for so long must have expressed some deeply held fear, or longing. In an attempt to expose the psychic wound that drove America to embrace this almost medieval parallel between sex and death, we shall examine three movies from the days when the Erotic Thriller, like the bison, roamed proud and free across our nation. Because we believe it’s about time that these movies also get made into sloppy joes and sold to tourists at Fake Old West Days. Let the healing begin.
BODY CHEMISTRY (1990) Directed by Kristine Peterson Written by Jackson Barr
Our movie begins with a close-up of a nipple, then cuts to a shot of an eye. No, this isn’t meant to signify that the viewers are boobs—it’s just Marc Singer doing cutting-edge porn research at the Smut Institute. He has made the revolutionary discovery that men get more excited by watching Debbie Does Dallas than "Two Fat Ladies."
But just as he's on track for the Nobel Prize in Porn, Marc meets Dr. Claire Archer (Lisa Pescia), who is trying to prove her own theory that kinky sex is boffo at the box office. Marc is working late at the office when Dr. Archer takes off her lab coat to reveal that she is only wearing a silk teddy, thigh-high stockings, and a garter belt. Claire places her breasts in Marc’s face and throatily whispers that latent psychopaths often enjoy S&M—and the first one’s free, kid! Marc half-heartedly demurs, stating that he is a married man with a prestigious career in porn. Claire assures him that that their casual affair won’t jeopardize any of that, since she is not Glenn Close, just an incredible simulation.
So, his mind at ease, they hop into a bed that resembles a jail, and Marc Singer demonstrates that he is the BeastWithTwoBacksMaster! He slips away while Claire is still asleep, and heads home to takes a milk bath, hoping to wash away the sin and to make his skin smooth and soft for the many nude scenes to come.
Marc fails to return Claire’s post-coital phone call, so Claire cancels her project—and the Smut Institute loses its big research grant from the President’s Council on Getting Physical. Marc asks her to reconsider, and they end up doin’ it in the shower; Marc uses the opportunity to press his butt up against the steamy glass, proving that Michael Douglas has nothing on him!
Thanks to Marc’s prowess at showering, the lab gets the contract back and Marc gets promoted to Institute Director. But when Marc goes home, who should be there in a van but Claire! She offers him candy, and when he falls for her ruse and gets in, she undresses him, ties his arms above his head, and, um, interns him.
Back at the lab, Marc tells Claire that it’s over. She has a differing view, and orders him to come to her house for dinner on Friday night. He’s flustered and flummoxed, and . . . another "f" word. When Friday comes, he rebels by staying home and having good, clean married sex with Mary Crosby. But Claire will not be ignored! We feel a mixture of apprehension and horror when she puts a boiling pot of water on the stove and throws in . . .a lobster! (While the movie doesn’t elaborate, we assume this was Pinchy, Marc’s beloved pet crustacean.) Claire then trashes the dinner, smashes the china, and generally acts out. Lack of sex with Marc Singer will do that to you.
When Mary Crosby later opens a package addressed to her hubby, she finds it contains broken crockery and the squished remains of a lobster. "Who would want to send you a box of garbage?" she asks Marc. Well, maybe the viewers of Beastmaster 3, who thought turnabout was fair play. But Marc blames it on animal rights activists (who often send lobsters to sex researchers); meanwhile, his son plays with a lobster claw. Little Jason really loved Pinchy!
Claire’s next act of revenge is to send Jason a video of his father, nude and whimpering in the van. But Jason is strangely unaffected by seeing his dad in a porno flick—I guess after sitting through If You Could See What I Hear, the kid can stomach just about anything.
Marc confronts Claire. They have a tussle that ends with him ripping off her clothes, tying her up, and taking her brutally from behind. He shouts, "This is what you want!" She replies, "It’s what you want." He is shocked and horrified to realize that she is right—he does want to star in Basic Instinct! Although he left her bound and naked, Claire continues to phone him about 100 times a day (presumably dialing with her nose).
Realizing the lobstergram and corruption of a minor didn't have quite the impact she was hoping for, Claire ups the ante and burns down Marc's house. Marc retaliates by breaking down Claire’s door and trying to strangle her. They fight in slo-mo for a while, then Claire grabs a gun. They stare at each other, hoping even now for something original to happen—but it doesn’t, so she shoots him.
And we the viewers are left to contemplate the sad moral of the story: That flaunting the conventional academic wisdom in porn leads inevitably to professional ruin, murder, and a mailbox that reeks of seafood.
When Body Chemistry was made back in 1990, society was yearning for entertainment that promoted good, wholesome family values, while also featuring lots of nudity and kinky sex. So, Hollywood made movies designed to scare men into being faithful by showing them that hot sex with beautiful women may seem like fun at first, but it inevitably results in stress, danger, and missing the Superbowl.
The basic premise of Body Chemistry is that adultery is wrong, even if you’re a porn researcher whose boss orders him to have Last Tango in Paris-style sex with a hot blonde in order to get a government S&M contract. It’s wrong, and it will be punished by death! Glen Close’s death, if you’re Michael Douglas; however, if your last big role was in a miniseries about hot space aliens with lizard tongues, then it will be you who die for your sins, while the blonde goes on to star in a direct-to-cable psycho-sex franchise.
Besides helping men keep their pants on, Body Chemistry and its ilk also provide valuable information to women. These films give wives get documentary proof that their husbands are weak, lecherous dogs who are sleeping with beautiful blonde sociopaths whenever they claim to be working late at the office. Single girls are taught creative ways to terrorize men who fail to call after sex.
You say that the guy who was so eager to "make the lobster with four claws" last week can’t seem to remember your name now that the writhing on the lab floor is over? Well, do like Dr. Archer, and mail him a squashed crustacean. (A cooked octopus or boiled manta ray will also work, but only if they were close, personal marine life). Bet he’ll never forget you after that!
If he claims he’s too busy for sex games, what with his family responsibilities and porn research, then get busy yourself and expand your social life. Try meeting new people—like his 10-year-old son! Yes, a relationship with a younger man will be just the thing to restore your self-confidence, even if he’ll want to play SpongeBob SquarePants rather than SpankBob NoPants.
And speaking of hard-faced, sexually aggressive women with a lot of upper body strength, our next morality tale comes to us from Madonna. It also teaches valuable lessons about obsession, adultery, and murder, and how they result in bad movies. The twist this time is that for once, the fishy smell isn’t coming from a dead lobster.
Can YOU guess which movie this might be? If you guess right, I'll post its summary later this week. Of course, if you guess wrong or you don't guess at all, then I'll probably do it anyway. So, basically, consider this a statement on the Calvinist belief in preordination.
12:24:25 AM  | 
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