The phrase ‘erotic thriller’ immediately conjures up all manner of evocative thoughts and images. Two-word titles emblazoned in a vaguely threatening red font. Michael Douglas being Michael Douglas-y. R ratings in the US, a 15 certificate (or 18 if things get really spicy) in the UK. The work of Adrian Lyne. Yuppies. A massive, preposterous third act twist. Cocaine. Boiled bunnies. Sharon Stone. Excruciating viewing experiences on the sofa with your parents.
Emerging in the early 80s with American Gigolo and Body Heat before reaching its imperial phase towards the end of the decade when Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal and Basic Instinct were straddling the box office, the genre’s lurid smooshing together of sex and violence proved impossibly seductive for audiences. Of course, it couldn’t last and, as the 90s gave way to the new millennium, the erotic thriller slowly became a direct-to-video punchline, hoovering up Razzies instead of box office receipts. Now, bar the odd valiant but doomed attempt to revive it, the genre seems to be all but dead.
