This is not the best ‘you’ve had sex with the wrong person and now your life is ruined’ stalker-type film you’ll probably ever see in your life, but I personally enjoyed it, and it was definitely worth watching at least one time.

There are at least four (go on, count ‘em!) distinct nods here to the original stalker film, the Daddy of them all, Adrian Lyne’s FATAL ATTRACTION from 1989, and the movie turns into Alfred Hitchcock’s 1951 masterpiece STRANGERS ON A TRAIN near the end as well, with the whole ‘I did your murders, now you do mine!’ thing. Kriss Kross, as they say in THE SIMPSONS

Derrick and Tracie Tyler are one of those beautiful, rich high-achieving power couples. He’s an agent to a whole stable of sporting celebrities, as well as being a former college basketball star, and she’s in real estate. They have one of those magnificent but soulless show-homes made of glass and steel, similar to the one in THE INVISIBLE MAN (2020). All mod cons but literally no heart…

They’re nice to look at, these show-gaffs, but personally I find all those empty, clutter-free acres of space deeply, deeply impersonal and boring. Where’s the character? Where’s the personality? Where’s the mountain of old TV guides and calendars from 1982, lol…? I can’t be doing with that kind of spotlessness; it’s too high maintenance. Besides, my kids would make shite of all those pristine, jam-and-chocolate-free surfaces.

Anyway, Derrick and Tracie’s marriage is on the rocks, and Derrick confides to his business partner, the burly Rafe, that he thinks Tracie might be cheating on him. He doesn’t seem to see any irony in the fact that, when he goes to Vegas for a mate’s bachelor party, he meets Hilary Swank’s character, Val, and has energetic stranger-sex with her in her hotel room.

The erotica here is not terribly erotic, just so you know. There’s no nudity, not even a nip-slip or a butt-shot, and no discernible sexual chemistry or electricity of any kind between the two leads. It’s extremely disappointing.

The sex in FATAL ATTRACTION is messy but believable, and the sexual tension between Michael Douglas and Glenn Close is both palpable and sizzling like a pan-full of fat Irish sausages. And, let me tell you, that’s fairly feckin’ sizzling…!

Back goes Derrick to his wife, anyway, after all the illicit sex-with-a-stranger. No doubt he feels suitably guilty for having been a cheating louse, as he seems like a half-decent bloke. No sooner is he back home, though, than the Tylers are broken into, by a burglar in a balaclava who doesn’t steal anything but roughs Derrick up a fair bit before legging it. Who’s got it in for Droopy Derrick, then?

Enter the detective, the mopey Val Quinlan. Sound familiar? Yep, that’s because she’s the Val with whom Derrick has had all the illicit nookie in Vegas. But what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Wrong, very, very wrong. This Val chick has an agenda, and, now that she has a hold over Derrick (all the sex, remember?), she intends to use him to further that agenda. Derrick is in for a world of pain…

With the STRANGERS ON A TRAIN-style twist, this is FATAL ATTRACTION with a slight difference. It’s a very grey-looking film, with not much colour in it. It’s all that washed-out glass and steel and chrome. Even Hilary Swank herself looks long and grey and washed-out in it, but she seems like a good enough actress and the plot is fairly decent too, so, overall, I give FATALE a thumbs-up. Enjoy it.  

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Vampirology. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women’s fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:
Her debut romantic fiction novel, ‘THIRTEEN STOPS,’ is out now from Poolbeg Books:
The sequel, ‘THIRTEEN STOPS LATER,’ is out now from Poolbeg Books: