BODY OF EVIDENCE
A review in the public domain
by The Phantom
(sbb@panix.com)
In his last review, the Phantom wrote of the importance of heeding the warnings of impending cinematic doom that we may find on the way to the opening credits of yet another quality-challenged horror or exploitation film. Occasionally the filmmakers or the studio will give us tantalizing hints of the extreme violence about to be done to our high expectations; but oftentimes we must rely on a combination of some of our less discerning film critics and the studio's publicity department to provide us with suitably frightening theatrical portents -- the cinematic equivalents of "Bridge Out" signs that we overlook at our own peril.
As is the case with BODY OF EVIDENCE, the subject of this review and the latest in a peculiarly Hollywood combination of sex, violence and litigation that reached its apex with Paul Verhoeven's now infamous BASIC INSTINCT. Even before it opened, the print ads for Dino De Laurentiis' latest attempt to recapture the box-office glory of his not-particularly-good masterpiece, the 1977 remake of KING KONG, gave us an inkling of what was to come. "BE WARNED: It's not for the prudish or faint-hearted" screamed Susan Granger's quote, used by Metro Goldwyn Mayer's publicity department perhaps in an attempt to mislead us into thinking that we would be seeing Bram Stoker's BODY OF EVIDENCE instead of good old Dino's. Since then, MGM has reconsidered the value of displaying prominently a reviewer's quote that warns people away from a film, rather than recommends it to them. On the brighter side, since no one has ever heard of Susan Granger (credited as a reviewer for WICC/American Movie Classics), her dire warnings seem to have had little effect on the all-important first weekend gross. "A slick thriller that embodies elements of WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION, THE STORY OF O, and BASIC INSTINCT," reads David Ansen's quote, excerpted from his Newsweek review. This is better, at least from MGM's point of view, since it only serves to confuse people rather than warn them away from the film. But what must it do to those few people who had any respect for Mr. Ansen's critical sensibilities? After all, such shameless flaking for what is universally understood to be an extremely bad film can't be earning him any brownie points with the editors of his august publication. Ansen, after all, has never exactly been King of the Critics, but still: WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION, THE STORY OF O, and BASIC INSTINCT!? After reading that quote (and enduring BODY OF EVIDENCE), the Phantom spent quite a while trying to determine just what these four films had in common. At last it occurred to him: they were all filmed in color! But no, not even that: Marlene Dietrich wasn't making color films in the fifties (though in WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION she was sexier fully dressed and filmed in black and white than Madonna will ever be nude and pouring hot candle wax all over Willem Dafoe in glorious Technicolor).
We may never know what "elements" Ansen was referring to. Phans who have seen all four films are encouraged to send their best guesses to the Phantom; he, in turn, will reply with his heartfelt sympathies for having endured Madonna's latest cinematic fiasco (perhaps on Mr. Ansen's ever-reliable recommendation) and a recommendation of his own: that they race to their nearest Blockbusters and rent Billy Wilder's classic adaptation of Agatha Christie's suspenseful, well-written, and thoroughly enjoyable play. WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION is every bit as good as BODY OF EVIDENCE is bad; it is also worth seeing for the second or third time just as much as BODY OF EVIDENCE is worth avoiding for the first.
Having gotten his fellow critics' ill-considered reviews out of the way, the Phantom will now make some attempt to describe just how bad, how incompetent, how completely hilarious Madonna's latest film really is. Nothing you have seen or read can prepare you for the unceasing onslaught of just plain lousiness that Madonna, Willem Dafoe, Joe Mantegna, writer Brad Mirman, and director Uli Edel unleash upon their audience; truly, it is awe-inspiring to leave a theater thinking to oneself, "You know, BASIC INSTINCT wasn't that bad after all. A little goofy, maybe, and we sure could have done without seeing Michael Douglas' naked rear-end a half-dozen times, but at least Verhoeven had some idea what he was doing." (Phans, cinematic revisionism through Madonna-tinted glasses is the most dangerous kind, but even the Phantom found himself engaging in it before the candle wax had finished dripping all over Dafoe.)
The story revolves around Madonna's character, Rebecca Carlson, who is put on trial for the murder of the wealthy older man she had been rather friendly with right up until the moment he had a fatal heart attack. Was Rebecca simply too much for the old man? Was she herself the "lethal weapon" that caused his untimely (and rather embarrassing) death? As the crackerjack prosecutor Robert Garrett, Joe Mantegna sets out to prove just this. Naturally, Rebecca needs an equally crackerjack defense, and that she gets from Willem Dafoe as Frank Dulaney, a man who we know is doomed to buzz around the incandescent beauty of his client like a moth around an outdoor patio light.
But one immediate problem with the film is that even a dim and faltering patio light gives off more heat than either Madonna or Dafoe, both of whom are grievously miscast here. (Joe Mantegna is never miscast, but he does manage to sleepwalk though his role as Portland's least competent prosecutor. After having seen the film, the Phantom can hardly blame him, but oh how he must be kicking himself for turning down the chance to reprise his starring role in GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS for the opportunity to be the best supporting actor in yet another Madonna turkey.) Dafoe, as the equally incompetent Frank Dulaney, does better with intellectual roles than those that require that he respond with unbridled enthusiasm when someone unzips his fly in an elevator; he is simply all wrong for Dulaney, who is first and foremost a character with very little common sense and not much more intelligence. (And $7.50 later, the Phantom considered the possibility that he himself might be perfect for the role; nothing like wasting one's money on a film like BODY OF EVIDENCE to make one doubt one's own common sense, intelligence, and at times, sanity.)
Madonna may have seen something in Rebecca that was just right for her, but a role in which Madonna does little more than act like Madonna is not what any of us need. Her role as Rebecca invites comparisons to Sharon Stone's similar role in BASIC INSTINCT, but Madonna does not, at this point, have Sharon Stone's looks; in fact, she doesn't really have Sharon Stone's talent, though she's probably a better singer, and she's certainly better at self-promotion. Madonna plays much better when she puts herself at the center of a fantasy -- her videos all have her play-acting in worlds where every element reflects back favorably on her, and in which she controls the words, the music, and the images we see -- not when she has to try to play a real person who interacts with other real people in the real world (or as real as the world ever gets in a film as loopy as BODY OF EVIDENCE). In this film, however, she doesn't even look particularly good: she's given an unflattering hair style, frumpy-looking clothes, terrible lighting, and bad direction. As a result, she seems more like a mannequin come to life than a sex siren who lures Frank to the rocks of professional ruin and personal danger. Though even this is a bad comparison, as most mannequins are better dressed and almost never say anything as inane as "They've taken something good between two people in love and made it dirty."
To make matters worse, half the film is set in a courtroom, always a dangerous thing for a writer to do if he cannot, in fact, write intelligent dialogue. The dialogue in BODY OF EVIDENCE is about on the level of Matlock, and frequently it's much worse. As the trial gets under way, we quickly find that the judge (ably played by Lillian Lehman) appears to be in the same position we are: she's fed up with the way things are going, she most adamantly does not want to tolerate any more bad dialogue from either lawyer, and she's going to do everything in her power to see that her portion of the film ends as quickly as possible. Alas, it is only the audience who can hold the filmmakers in contempt, and even we cannot sentence them to repeated viewings of the hundreds of more intelligent, better acted, and better directed courtroom dramas that have been made over the years. (Including WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION, as Mr. Ansen may know, a film with sparkling dialogue by Billy Wilder and crackling courtroom scenes that are reason enough for Brad Mirman to hide his head in shame.) Apparently the best the judge can do is look positively dyspeptic at frequent intervals and wonder how director Uli Edel could have fallen so far from his very solid 1989 adaptation of LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN, and how we all could have fallen so far from Jennifer Jason Leigh's stunning performance in that film to Madonna's stunted one in this. Of course, there are the obligatory sex scenes, this time sans ice-pick. But also, alas, sans emotion and sans interest on our part. Though there is a lot of fumbling around in the film, there are two main scenes responsible for the film's notoriety: one in which Rebecca ties up Frank with his own belt and pours hot candle wax on him; and one in which she makes love to him in a parking garage, on top of a car, fully clothed, and while Dulaney is lying on top of broken glass. Dafoe is way outside his element in each scene, and Madonna approaches them as if she were following a particularly complicated chapter in the Time-Life Guide to Offbeat Sexual Practices. (Order now and we'll send you "How to Turn Off the Lights By Breaking the Bulb With Your Shoe Instead of Using the Switch Like People In a More Plausible Film Would" as our free gift to you.) The Phantom had hoped that Madonna might accidentally open the guide to home repairs and show us all how to replace bathroom tile or install a new dishwasher but, sadly, he was repeatedly disappointed. At least she looked like she was enjoying herself; Dafoe tended to look like someone who got talked onto a rollercoaster against his better judgment, just as the safety bars come down and the car begins its ascent. He knows he's in for something; he knows it won't be pleasant; and it's only the thought of the wholesale retribution to come that keeps him in the scene -- after all, tossing your agent out the window isn't even a felony in California.
We have all traveled a long and hard road from the heights of WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION to the depths of BODY OF EVIDENCE, from Marlene Dietrich to Madonna. It is conceivable that BODY OF EVIDENCE could be even worse than it is, but only if it weren't so unintentionally funny so very often; how it got to be in the sorry shape in which it is presented to us will likely never be known. For the Phantom's part, he still finds it hard to believe that so many reasonably talented people could together produce a film as mind-numbingly bad as BODY OF EVIDENCE, though Dino De Laurentiis' Midas touch should always be kept in mind. In the meantime, Billy Wilder's classic film awaits you at your local Blockbusters. No handcuffs; no hot candle wax; no contempt for the audience -- just top-flight acting, unparalleled writing, and Marlene Dietrich with all her clothes on. A film that looked good then looks even better now that we are able to see it through our Madonna-tinted glasses.
: The Phantom : sbb@panix.com
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