A retired rock-and-roller is trussed to the headboard and stabbed with an icepick in the middle of lovemaking. (Hard-bitten homicide cop: "He got off before he got offed.") All signs point to his current girlfriend, a provocatively smirking heiress who happens to have written a novel about a retired rock-and-roller who gets stabbed with an icepick by his girlfriend. Now she's at work on a new novel about a homicide detective who falls in love with "the wrong woman," and is ultimately murdered by her. Throwing caution to the wind, the actual homicide detective (Michael Douglas) goes ahead and starts up an affair with his chief suspect. (Remarks his partner: "She got that magna cum laude pussy on her that done fried up your brain" -- this is in San Francisco, not Little Rock.) A second suspect eventually emerges: the police psychologist whom the homicide detective had been seeing therapeutically and with whom he had also struck up an affair -- lots of professional integrity in the SFPD. Ludicrously plotted, ludicrously acted, ludicrously staged, with "torrid" love scenes that more closely resemble pro wrestling matches. Sharon Stone, George Dzundza, Jeanne Tripplehorn; written by Joe Eszterhas; directed by Paul Verhoeven. (1992) — Duncan Shepherd
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