The fact that a competent reviewer gave Fatal Attraction a no-no, proves the adage that art, like beauty, is in the eye of the ticket holder. Bow-legged and deliberately-portrayed ominous, Glen Close- and Michael Douglas are bound by adultery. Douglas, professionally and in this movie, a nasty piece of work, is ensnared by his own lust, Close, by her paranoiac self-reflection as an irresistible lover. The title, one would like to believe was ironic. But knowing Hollywood's tortoise-like following of social mores, the movie's kernel belongs to pre-aids days. The word attraction' is a misnomer; there is- nor ever was- anything attractive about adultery- or betrayal. So what makes this movie, with its ludicrous ending, great? Our involvement with the spiritual poverty of its central protagonists? The divergent wholesomeness of Ann Archer and Ellen Hamilton Latzen as the sinned-against middle-class American family? If I knew that, I would be making movies. But in those who have contemplated the memory and what-if?' repercussions of wrongdoing, this movie will strike a profound conscience pang.
Review of Fatal Attraction
