There's an old joke about British men being boring in bed. I couldn't help but be reminded of that joke while watching BASIC INSTINCT 2, Sharon Stone's comeback, now go away vehicle. The sequel the world has not been waiting for is set in England and the man being manipulated by everyone's favorite chain-smoking bisexual serial killing ice queen is a blank stare with a British accent. Flat when it should be suspenseful, dull when it should be lurid; BASIC INSTINCT 2 simply isn't intriguing, trashy, or campy enough to justify its existence or any reason why you should want to sit through it. The urge to sleep is the only basic instinct this movie is likely to inspire.

No doubt Sharon Stone looks gorgeous for a woman her age - she's about a decade away from being old enough to star in big screen version of The Golden Girls; you just know she'd be cast as Blanche - but even the scant scenes of sex and nudity are more fizzle than sizzle. Heck, there's more naked male heinie on display here than in BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. Stone and company blame the MPAA for making them cut all the steamy explicit sex scenes down or completely but no amount of sweaty groin-grinding could have saved this. While Stone herself does get a couple of deliciously vulgar lines and there's a scene with her in a hot tub where I honestly began to wonder if she get confused and momentarily thought she was starring in another remake of CAT PEOPLE, neither she nor the wearisome nature of the film (From the director of DOC HOLLYWOOD?) will stop you from checking your watch often.

What begins as a battle of wits that then turns into a locking of loins eventually devolves into a battle to see who can out sneer the other. Much of the film's failure stems from too indisputable problems: a) there's no mystery this time out as everyone knows Catherine Tremell is a cold-blooded murderer, they just can't prove it while continually falling under her spell, and b) the fact that there's absolutely no way to sympathize or root for the male lead. This guy is a bigger boob than both of Miss Stone's breast implants put together. After his estranged wife gets her throat cut, he storms over to Catherine's loft ready to kill her, fully aware that she had to be responsible for the deed. Catherine proceeds to all but confess to the murder, even explaining to him how getting the ex out of the way will be to his benefit. How does he react to this? They have sex. You find yourself wishing she'd just whip out the old icepick and finish this guy off already. It would have at least saved us all from having to sit through another hour of this film which can now join that elite group of completely unwarranted and unwanted sequels that popped up years after they had any chance of being relevant.

BASIC INSTINCT 2, I'd like you to meet BLUES BROTHERS 2000, ARTHUR 2: ON THE ROCKS, GREASE 2, CADDYSHACK 2, THE STING II, WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S 2, DIRTY DANCING: HAVANA NIGHTS, and STAYING ALIVE. I think you'll find that you all have a lot in common.

 

BUBBLE BOYS NEED LOVE TOO

 

Ah, CRYSTAL HEART, the movie that dared to ask the question, "Would you be willing to die for a chance to bang Tawny Kitaen?" Back in 1986 when the film was made I'd be willing to bet that most guys would have answered "yes" without even thinking about the consequences. Her appearance in those Whitesnake videos was the subject of many a red-blooded American males' wet dream back then. Despite having also co-starred in such 80s classics, and I use that term loosely, as BACHELOR PARTY and WITCHBOARD, Tawny Kitaen is more remembered for her body than her body of work. Oh, let's not forget about THE PERILS OF GWENDOLINE. Better yet, let's.

And for the record, I actually started this review before finding out that she was a housemate on the newest season of The Surreal Life on VH1 - the acronym now standing for "Vapidly Homosexual." I tuned in to the premiere episode for a few minutes to see the sad sack that is now Sherman Hemsley standing next to Tawny Kitaen who clearly hasn't aged well, or should I say, hasn't allowed herself to age well. Whether it's been through excess botox or plastic surgery, she's developed that wax mannequin complexion ("Shiny Forehead Syndrome" as I call it) that Nicole Kidman and most of the Desperate Housewives currently suffer from.

But let's go back in time to the year of our lord Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Six when Tawny was, as a Wayne's World skit once pointed out, a good euphemism for sex. "I'm feeling Tawny." How about you? Break out the synthesizer soundtrack, here comes CRYSTAL HEART!

NOTHING COULD PREPARE HER FOR THE TERROR THAT WAS BERT CONVEY

Tawny Kitaen is Alley Daniels, a rising young rock starlet who, as presented by the makers of CRYSTAL HEART, appears to be the single woman embodiment of every female 80s rocker. Every song lyric, every music video, every stage performance, every wardrobe change brings to mind images of Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, Pat Benatar, Sheena Easton, Stacy Q, and, of course, Madonna - I'm sure there are other Reagan Era rock starlets that you can recognize influencing the wardrobe and dance steps Alley displays. Alley Daniels is an amalgamation of every Nu Wave female rocker all wrapped up in the body of a Playboy playmate topped off with a head of hair big enough to sumo wrestle one of Tina Turner's wigs. No doubt Kitaen looks gorgeous here but, damn, I haven't seen a mane of hair that large since Thundarr the Barbarian's sidekick Ookla.

As we all know, hot chicks dig frizzy haired artistic types that live in hermetically sealed environments. An almost completely forgetten gem of Reagan era schlock, CRYSTAL HEART takes LOVE STORY, splices it with John Travolta's infamous TV movie THE BOY IN THE PLASTIC BUBBLE, and sexes it all up as an orgy of 80s MTV kitsch. Movies about star-crossed lovers are nothing new but CRYSTAL HEART takes things to absurdist heights. She of the smoking hot redhead with a tight little bod and he of the pasty, angst-ridden, Brady-haired dork variety - this is already a highly unlikely coupling for reasons that have nothing to do with his lack of an immune system.

To be honest, it is kind of refreshing by today's standards to see a male love interest in a film like this that isn't some generi-hunk as I've come to call them with perfect abs and a serious case of scruffy guy syndrome. That doesn't change the unlikeliness of love blooming between the babe known for slithering on car hoods in Whitesnake videos and the curly-haired pianist from FAME, but at least he doesn't give off that WB Network vibe, or given the time in which this film was made, that "Corey" vibe.

BILLY SQUIER 2099

Twenty-something Christopher Newley (FAME's Lee Curreri in the last starring role of his career before going on to a life as an actual music producer/composer) suffers from that tragic birth defect that leaves one without benefit of an immune system. Fortunately, his parents are filthy stinking obscenely rich. We're talking Dynasty, Dallas, Knots Landing, Falcon Crest rich. Plastic bubble? Ha! That's for poor immuno-deficient scrubs. Mom and dad have built Christopher his very own sterile environment in the form of a crystal chamber complete with a wall-mounted television screen, computer, video game system, stereo, treadmill, circular bed, top of the line recliner, electric keyboard, etc. This crystal-windowed chamber with black and white interiors looks like something from a Gene Roddenberry show; that he constantly wears white pajamas only amplifies the sci-fi overtones of it. Sure, it's not very spacious, he can't get any privacy because much of it is open for viewing, there's a security camera trained on him at all times, electrodes hooked up to him to monitor his heart rate 24/7, and no doubt it sucks big time never being able to leave the crystal-windowed vault, but rent for something like this in New York City would probably cost an arm and a leg. Hell, after Hurricane Katrina, I bet a lot of people down here would take this crystal cell over a tent or a FEMA trailer. Quit whining, bubble boy; you got it better than anyone with your condition has ever had it.

But one thing a rich family cannot buy Christopher - aside from functioning white blood cells - is love. He may have a song in his heart what with the way he spends seemingly every waking moment at his electric keyboard, no doubt composing the sort of power ballad that would go on to make Firehouse the rock gods they are today, but his love life is as non-existent as his immune system. When not trying to pen John Parr's next surefire top ten hit, Christopher pines for a certain flame-haired hotty by the name of Alley Daniels.

Our first introduction to Alley Daniels comes in the form of a music video Christopher watches on TV. The song is called "Don't Touch the Heart." This shitty little ditty has Alley crooning about the woeful nature of romantic relationships gone wrong - I do believe that describes about 60% of all 1980s pop rock songs - and is as generic an 80s style female pop rock song you could ever hear. It's the kind of music video that looks to have been shot without a permit in primarily outdoor public places causing them to have to get everything in one shot before moving on to another location leaving the finished video little more than a collection of intercut vignettes of the singer walking, dancing, and interacting with back-up dancers spliced together by more bad music video style swiping in the course of 2 1/2 minutes than in an entire season of Dance Fever. We're talking about a music video where the director decided that just because there's a lyric about cake that means it should include a sequence where Alley dances around a line of shirtless hunks holding cakes. I'm sorry; did I say "shirtless hunks?" I meant to say guys with average physiques dressed like Chippendale dancers holding homemade frosted cakes. I'm guessing these were crew members willing to do double duty because there's no way any of these guys are professional models. "Don't Touch the Heart" would have gotten laughed off of MTV had it been for real.

AN IMAGE THAT REDEFINES THE CONCEPT OF "FRUITCAKE"

Christopher fancies himself a songwriter and after seeing that god awful music video it's clear that anything he comes up with couldn't be any worse. He sends Alley letters telling him what a huge fan he is and how he longs to write music for her. She's so impressed with these letters that she decides to visit him in person just like most celebrities do after you send them enough fan letters. So Alley drives from her Los Angeles home to the Newley family estate somewhere out in the Valley to meet her #1 fan. Unfortunately, their first meeting doesn't go well. If you think it's embarrassing for a guy to be around a pretty girl and begin stuttering or suddenly develop an inopportune erection, well, imagine how humiliating it would be for her to hear your heart monitor begin going crazy as your mommy and private nurse come rushing in to check on you.

Disastrous first meetings aside, Christopher and Alley's rocky road to romance has another speed bump in the form of Jean-Claude, Alley's manager/boyfriend. One look at Jean-Claude and suddenly the Alley-Christopher coupling doesn't seem so unbelievable and actually a step up for her. Jean-Claude looks like a Latino cross between Sonny Bono and Timothy Dalton, leaning more to the Bono side of the DNA strand. Keep in mind that Alley is still only semi-famous at this point and with songs and videos like "Don't Touch the Heart" you have to question whether she'll ever make it. That's why Jean-Claude is constantly struggling in his own right to get her much needed career-boosting publicity. We get to enjoy an Alley Daniels shoe commercial that's really just an excuse the filmmakers came up with to show Miss Kitaen in a tight leotard. Jean-Claude thinks he may have struck gold with a rock promoter but only if Alley could somehow get more exposure in the press. Hmmm…

Before scaring Alley off with the sounds of loud beeping sounds, Christopher was able to give her one of his songs to work on. She comes to realize that he really is a talented composer, certainly better than any of the crap she's already had to perform. She decides to pay him another visit and this time they end up dancing to some really awful 80s dance rock, even worse than "Don't Touch the Heart," that defies description. As bad as the music is, the scene is kind of sweet, at least until Christopher attempts to breakdance. This is cringe-inducing. I just have too many bad memories growing up of lily white classmates trying to breakdance badly. It was never pretty. Regardless, his charming dorkiness prevails, Alley becomes a regular visitor to the Newley residence, and the flower of love begins to bloom.

PETER BRADY AND PEBBLES FLINTSTONE - TOGETHER AT LAST

But trouble is brewing in this hermetically sealed paradise, the SCARFACE-accented sleaze machine that is Jean-Claude - every word out of his mouth, a phonetic abomination - schemes to use her friendship with the bubble boy to their advantage. Trouble also begins brewing in his relationship with Alley as pretty much all he does of late is scold her about whatever he doesn't like about her, such as not picking up her dog's droppings. Hey, I'm with him on that one. His pet peeve about dog droppings leads to one of Alley's blonde bimbo friends nicknaming him "Colonel Dog Doo-Doo." I believe neocon harpy Michelle Malkin once referred to presidential hopeful John Kerry by that nickname on the Chris Matthews Show during the last election.

Trouble is also brewing in the Newley household as his overprotective mom thinks that this Alley chick is going to prove to be nothing but trouble for her precious child. She thinks Alley is just using him and even has a meltdown after Alley brings her little rat dog over for Chris's amusement. Calm down, mom; it's not like she slid the thing through the slot so it could run wild in his microbe-free environment.

On the other side of the coin, dad is very understanding and only wants to see Christopher happy. You get the feeling that dad wouldn't mind high-fiving his son at the prospect that he could still bag a babe like that even while permanently locked within a state-of-the-art crystal and steel womb. Actually, you get the feeling he wouldn't mind hitting that himself. No surprise here given that his dad is played by the late Lloyd Bochner, who once played a Hollywood actor that went down to Miami to appear in a dinner theater production and ended up bedding all of the Golden Girls with the exception of Estelle Getty's cobwebby poon. Good lord, did I really just use the phrase "cobwebby poon" in a sentence? I did. Even I'm ashamed.

Christopher and Alley's relationship takes a rather uncomfortable turn when one visit culminates in him proposing marriage. She thinks he's joking but he's all like, "You'd be rich and I'd get you, even if I'm still stuck in here. All I care about is you." She's touched but doesn't know how to react, probably because she just realized how serious things are getting despite being separated by a plane of reinforced crystal and no medical possibility of a normal life.

Enter Jean-Claude and his brilliant idea to get her uber publicity by having her and Christopher to agree to a photo shoot for the National Enquirer. Hey, singing babe romanced by bubble boy - that's newsworthy, right? She reluctantly agrees and Christopher is incapable at this point to say no to Alley so let the crass exploitation begin. All seems to go well until the photographer asks about how they get around the whole inability to make love aspect of their relationship and Jean-Claude makes a lewd joke about how lack of sex is not something Alley needs to worry about - wink, wink. This causes Chris to go all "fire bad" and order everyone out, including Alley, who he accuses of having used him. Well, she did.

THERE IS SIMPLY NO SELF RESPECTING WAY TO THROW A TEMPER TANTRUM WHEN YOU LIVE INSIDE OF A GLASS CELL

This calls for a musical montage! We'll get several of these throughout the film. It was the 1980's after all; musical montages were required by law. The song featured in this montage is the only song on the soundtrack that I can actually cop to deriving some cheesy pleasure from. As the melody begins you think it's going to be a rip-off of Scandal's "The Warrior" but the moment the lead singer begins crooning about the hardships of love it suddenly turns all Eddie Money-riffic. While this quintessentially 80's song plays, we're treated to a silly post-argument montage where Alley has a breakdown while practicing some dance choreography and Chris goes from watching Solid Gold to playing his Atari 5200 to going all Six Million Dollar Man on the treadmill. If Gilligan could have hauled this much ass on the treadmill the Professor may very well have been capable of powering the whole island.

With the montage out of the way and the rule being that you cannot follow up one musical montage with another (The ROCKY films being the exception that proves the rule), there's only one thing that can possibly heal this troubled relationship now - MAKE UP SEX!

"Even if I could touch you, I couldn't love you anymore than I do now" is the line that kicks off what is unquestionably the most embarrassing sex scene in film history with the possible exception of anything involving 2,000 year old Mae West in the movie SEXTETTE.

Naked...

Separated by a thick crystal window...

Staring longingly at one another through the crystal window...

Pressing their lips against either side of the crystal window to simulate kissing...

Pressing their flesh against the crystal window...

Grinding away on the crystal window...

Leaving huge smears all over the crystal window...

Romantic? No!

Erotic? Hell no!

Laughable to a mind-blowing degree? Hell yeah!

You probably won't even notice Tawny Kitaen's first nude scene of the film as we're all too mortified and dumbstruck by the logistics of this sex scene. It's all the sexual gratification of a glory hole without the benefit of anonimity or the actual glory hole. One can only imagine what had to be going through the mind of the director laid this love scene out and what must having been going through the minds of Kitaen and Curreri as they went about acting it out.

GET THE WINDEX! THE BUBBLE BOY'S HORNY AGAIN!

Astoundingly, Alley actually achieves orgasm, which all things considered strikes me a being scientifically impossible. Guys, if women ever find a way to get themselves off by rubbing their genitalia against a plane of glass they're leaning against then we are going to become obsolete.

Even that awful BUBBLE BOY comedy from a few year's ago never dared taking things to such ridiculous lengths that CRYSTAL HEART does.

What better way to follow up such a ludicrous sex scene than with a ludicrous dream sequence. Hold on their, Miss Kitaen; no need to put those clothes back on yet. Alley's nightmare sequence has her taking a bubble bath while Christopher showers across from her. Suddenly, there are gale force winds as she starts running in place in slow motion before bursting through the glass shower door; her fully naked body is covered in blood as she falls to the empty shower stall floor surrounded by shattered glass. Even covered in blood, you get the sense that the filmmakers were just looking for a reason to keep Kitaen naked by trying to this mess into something sexy. I don't remember completely but I seem to recall Kitaen involed in a similar scene in WITCHBOARD. Tawny Kitaen and shower doors are a dangerous combination.

That National Enquirer cover article pays off as Alley gets an 8-week European touring gig. She opines over having to tell Chris they're going to be apart for awhile. Two whole months without window sex - however shall they survive?

Everyone celebrates her career boost at Alley's place while poor Christopher sits bored in his cell, constantly trying to call her on the phone like an obsessed boyfriend.

Speaking of obsessed boyfriends, Jean-Claude doesn't take it very well when Alley decides to sever the sexual side of their relationship. We've been waiting for most of the film for Jean-Claude to finally go STAR 80 on her. Close enough. He damns near rapes her until she tells him to "Go ahead; just let me know when you're done" to which he gets highly insulted. You think a college frat boy would have stopped? They're used to non-responsive chicks. No roofies needed here and, hey, she did consent - I say tap that ass. But no, instead his wounded Latino libido slaps the taste out of her mouth and then goes off on Christopher on the phone after someone finally answers one of his 10,000 phone calls. Jean-Claude proves he's no Van Damme as Alley chases him off with a shoe. She tries calling Chris back but can't because his phone his off the hook.

Meanwhile, back in the fortress of sucktitude, Chris grows increasingly agitated, rips off his heart monitor crap, and shatters the crystal cage with the keyboard chair. Who cares about that lack of immune system when there's a woman out there that needs him? Even his nurse is like, "Good luck, Christopher." This would all be a lot more romantic if not for the circumstances that both lead to his decision and the fact that he's effectively killed himself.

For the first time in his entire life Christopher is outside and free to roam as he pleases. I demand a musical montage and the director obliges. It consists mostly him jogging with a goofy grin on his face, rolling around on the grass, petting stray dogs, etc. all set to this bile-inducing tune with inspirational lyrics along the lines of "I'm crossing over to the other side" and "I feel alive." As sucky as the majority of CRYSTAL HEART's soundtrack has been I must confess that I miss the days when movies had soundtracks that featured songs tailored to fit the tone or actions happening in specific scenes.

LOOK DUDE, I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU'VE LIVED YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE STUCK INSIDE OF A BUBBLE BUT SHOW SOME DIGNITY ALREADY!

After doing more running than Forrest Gump, Christopher realizes that he has no clue how to find his way to Alley's house. He flags down an approaching jeep to ask the guy for a lift to over to her pad. He tells the guy in the jeep Alley's address and asks if he can take him there. And then it happens - one of those moments of b-movie zen that makes everything you've sat through worth it. Sure, this 40-year old paperboy that looks like Isaac the Bartender from The Love Boat could have just answered yes and told him to hop in, but noooooooo! Instead, well... "Do I know? Hey, man, they call me Abdullah the foolah, the big bad bowl rulah. I break a brick, cripple a stick, and drowned a drop of water. I know everything." Good God almighty, the paperboy thinks he's Dolemite? I bet if Chris had flagged down the mailman it probably would have turned out to be Petey Wheatstraw, the Devil's Son-In-Law.

And as they drive to Alley's house, Chris stands up in the jeep and begins behaving like he's auditioning for the role of Mork further exacerbating his overwhelming dork factor.

Alley is not at home, having gone to the Newley estate to smooth things over so that he didn't do anything stupid like break out of his hermetically sealed cell and doom himself only to find the shattered remnants of the crystal window they'd once gotten intimate on, so Chris sits at her doorstep awaiting her to return. Oh, how awesome would it have been if she got home and found him there dead on her doorstop?

She pulls up. He stands up. Does she say anything to him about his certain death? Nope, they kiss, play with her dogs, have dinner, ride bicycles on the boardwalk, ride the bumper cars at the amusement park, eat ice cream, walk along the beach, shower together (you'd think she'd wanna stay away from showers after that nightmare), and have sex. Yep, another montage, this time set to a nauseating rock ballad called "Castles in the Sand" that's so repulsive the last shot of the montage honestly looks like the guy driving the truck the camera was mounted on decided to floor it and get the hell out of this movie.

Say, I'm no doctor and I doubt you are either, but don't you think his lack of immune system would have kicked in by now? It's been at least 24 hours since his great escape and he hasn't even so much as coughed yet.

Van Dammit, Jean-Claude just showed up at Alley's door. Alright, get him, bubble boy! Denied? Bubble boy is still asleep in bed as Alley tells her ex-boyfriend/ex-manager off and slams the door in his face. That's Jean-Claude's big comeuppance? Boo!

It's off to an L.A. nightclub to see Alley perform. She's in this Nu Wave wedding dress garb that Madonna popularized back in her "Like a Virgin" days and, quite frankly, nobody other than her should have ever attempted to copy. Her dance choreography brings to mind a 10-year old girl reenacting her favorite music video dance steps. Her back-up singers are forced to wear these hideous blue leopard print leotard-miniskirt combos. Sheesh, this is a level 80's MTV hell that even the Solid Gold rarely achieved.

And I hope Christopher didn't write this song because it sucks in an ungodly manner. Worst of all, we have to sit through the lip-synced, poorly choreographed performance in its entirety. I'm glad Christopher is grinning like an idiot enjoying every minute of this but as for me, God, what I wouldn't give for my immune system to suddenly fail.

Chris finally calls home to tell mom and dad he's chosen to die sexually satisfied in the arms of a rock goddess. Bonfire on the beach, he and Alley snuggle in sleeping bags where this time she proposes to him and the two of them have a mock wedding right there. This achieves a bad soap opera level of saccharine. And I'm sorry, honey, but if Anna Nicole Smith had so much trouble getting money from her dead sugar daddy's family despite having actually been married to the old fart then I don't think this is going to hold up in court.

Next morning, Christopher is finally starting to feel not so horny for life. He's rushed to the hospital where Alley chain smokes in the waiting room while mom sits looking like she's hooked up to a Valium IV and dad paces back and forth trying to fight the urge to begin running throughout the hospital screaming, "It's a cookbook! It's a cookbook!"

Break out the Kleenex, Christopher wants to say goodbye to everyone individually. He tells dad how great a time he had. Sadly, he's too weak to give dad that scoring with a hot babe high-five. Then it's time to make up with mom. They get to hug for the very first time in his entire life and he thanks her for "the gift of life." Finally, he says his goodbye to Alley, who was kind enough to put out her cigarette before entering the room. He dies with Alley in the room. Everyone weeps. You won't find this much sap in all the trees in Yellowstone Park.

Following the funeral, the filmmakers decide to end the film with one final musical number. At the nightclub, Alley performs a song that Chris wrote. Naturally, it's a sad tune. The lights are turned down as everyone in the crowd whips out their lighters. Oh geez, they're really laying it on thick. Alley starts singing then breaks down and cries. She composes herself just in time for her stage performance to breakdown into another montage composed of clips from their doomed relationship. For something that started out so weepy, she concludes the song with a great big smile, waving happily to the audience that loved the song and goes crazy for Alley's performance. Alley skips off-stage and the closing credits roll. Yeah, I'm starting to think the bitch used him after all.

IN MEMORY OF CHRISTOPHER NEWLEY

HE LIVED IN LUXURY, NAILED A HOT BABE, AND KILLED HIMSELF WITH HIS OWN IMPULSIVENESS - DON'T MOURN TOO MUCH FOR YOUNG MR. NEWLEY

MY NAME IS SCOTT FOY AND I PAID TO SEE GIGLI