Certain questions arise during the eight hours spent giving the reboot of Fatal Attraction a fair retrial. One is: “What the hell is going on now?” Another is the question it thinks it’s answering by existing at all: “Is it possible to treat the sexism in an inherently sexist erotic thriller like a rotten tooth that can be extracted?” The answer in this case is no – with a side of: “And why on earth would you want to?”
The original Fatal Attraction came out in 1987. Back then, the good lawyer fighting the good fight who ends up having a steamy weekend affair with the bad woman – or the career woman as we defined her back then, shudder – was regarded as “a powerful cautionary tale” (the New York Times) for married men. “Whatever you do, don’t shag the crazy lady!” When it came to the brutal bathtub climax, men jumped to their feet during screenings and screamed: “Kill the bitch!” A new phrase to describe the horrors enacted by a vengeful woman spurned by her lover was born: bunny boiler. Glenn Close, who played Alex, came to regret the role but at the time it was a huge success: nominated for six Oscars, an instant classic. Everyone watched it. I did. Many times.
