Picture this: it’s Thursday night, you’ve just reached the end of a marathon week and you’re ready to fall asleep in front of some reality TV. As you channel-surf, you discover that Fatal Attraction just started on HBO. Who do you watch, Jill Zarin or Glenn Close?
I found myself in this situation last week, deciding between this nail biting treasure and the harpies of the Real Housewives. I weighed the pros and cons:
1) Close delivers a phenomenally twisted performance as Alex Forrest, a publishing executive intent on destroying Michael Douglas’ picture-perfect life after a misguided one-night stand.
2) You could cut the tension of most scenes with a knife — the editing is superb, and the scene that cuts between a frantic search for Douglas’ gender-ambiguous child and Close on a rollercoaster in all her steely glory gives me palpitations every time.
3) A lot of the film makes me think of another favorite, Cape Fear, but with more adultery. If this isn’t a formula for success, I don’t know what is.
With nary a con in my mind, I decided on Glenn. For the 12th time.
