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'Basic Instinct 2' lacks suspense, sexual tension

By ELEANOR RINGEL GILLESPIE
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Someone once asked Paul Reubens if there would be a sequel to "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure," and the comic replied, "What could happen? They steal the bicycle again?"

Something of that same thought occurs when you settle in with "Basic Instinct 2." What could happen? Sharon Stone uncrosses her legs again?

Sony Pictures

'Basic Instinct 2'

C-

The verdict: Sharon Stone's up to her old tricks, but her old tricks aren't up to her.

Director: Michael Caton-Jones
Starring: Sharon Stone, David Morrissey, Charlotte Rampling, David Thewlis, Hugh Dancy
Run time: 114 minutes
Release date: March 31, 2006
Rating: R for strong sexuality, nudity, violence, language and some drug content.
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Well, actually, she does, but her crotch is fully covered this time. Succumbing to her baser instincts, Stone revisits the character that made her world famous 14 years ago: Catherine Tramell, novelist, seductress, murderess (maybe) and ice-pick aficionado.

She's left San Francisco and Michael Douglas behind and moved to London, where she stirs up trouble before the opening credits are over. She and a soccer star are, um, pleasuring themselves and each other when the Spider she's driving plunges into the Thames at about 2 zillion miles an hour. She survives. He doesn't.

Potentially guilty of manslaughter — or reckless driving, at the very least — she's grilled by Scotland Yard Detective Roy Washburn (reliable David Thewlis), a man so uptight and angry with her coyness, she could probably cross her eyes and completely unnerve him.

He sends her to respected shrink Michael Glass (David Morrissey) for psychiatric evaluation. She eventually walks, but, intrigued by Glass' risk-addiction theory, Catherine signs up for private sessions.

Corpses pile up and meaningless, unerotic copulation follows. Meanwhile, she plays cat-and-mouse psychological games with Glass. Only, he's so unworthy of her talents, she may as well be playing cat and dust bunny.

To his credit, veteran director Michael Caton-Jones ("This Boy's Life") clearly lays out the preposterously convoluted plot. What he can't do is inject the film with any sense of danger or even sexual tension. When Catherine finally picks up her beloved ice pick, it's more like she's showing you a photo of an old friend than an old potential murder weapon.

Stone isn't the problem. She looks sensational, even when bathed in an unnecessary star-vanity white-blonde light. And she's still having fun. Her teasing bad-girl half-smile is as effective as it was a decade and a half ago. But the cheesy script often reduces her character to a series of laughable sexual double-entendres and skin-tight, cleavage-centric outfits.

And even Meryl Streep would have trouble playing off Morrissey. Bland and asexual, the British actor could be one of the Darrins on the old "Bewitched" series. Why Catherine wants to mess with him is a bigger mystery than any of the murders. That and why Stone ever OK'd casting him in the first place.