Fatal Attraction

The story is pure melodramatic trash which sees the family foundation needing to be protected at all costs, but Glenn Close’s performance and Adrian Lyne’s stylish, tense direction make it worth viewing.

In fact, Close single-handedly elevates the entire movie from pulpy trash to Oscar caliber material. Her performance is a fierce, vulnerable and slowly unraveling turn of one woman’s break from reality and descended into sexual obsession, jealous and psychotic rage. In another year, she would/should have won the Oscar for Best Actress (she lost out to Cher in Moonstruck).

And for two-thirds of the run time Fatal Attraction appears to be a solidly written and incredibly well acted discourse on why men cheat and one woman’s fragile psyche. It isn’t until the last act rears its head that we’re suddenly thrust into a borderline slasher movie. Throughout Lyne showcases his unique visual eye – stylized colors and atmospheric shadows combined with odd angles. He gives the film an appropriately erotic and dangerous glow about it. And he manages to systematically ratchet up the tension. It comes in small spurts before we see the full breathed of just how traumatized and broken this woman is, and how far she intends to go to get him to take culpability for what he has done.

While the ending undermines it, you can’t help but admit that Close’s psychotic siren is right in her feminist rants: Michael Douglas’ character should have taken responsibility for his indiscretion. It may not be great art, but Fatal Attraction is a mostly well-done and juicy sexual thriller whose positives far outweigh the negatives.