The Morbid Power of “Fatal Attraction”

Pauline Kael’s 1987 review of the film. View in browser | Update your preferences The Current Cinema The Worst Dating Movie Imaginable The conventional morality and paranoiac fear of “Fatal Attraction.” By Pauline Kael By the time The New Yorker published a review of “Fatal Attraction,” in October, 1987, the movie had already become a cultural flash point. “Long lines of people curl around the block waiting to see it,” the magazine’s influential film critic, Pauline Kael, noted, in an early indication that “Fatal Attraction” would rank among the highest-grossing movies of the year. Kael wasn’t a fan. But, like nearly everyone else who saw “Fatal Attraction,” then or since, she had a lot to say about it. In the film, a married lawyer (Michael Douglas) engages in a weekend affair with a single, city-dwelling book editor (Glenn Close), who becomes unhinged after he tries to end the brief relationship. In an escalating series of confrontations, the editor stalks and terrorizes the lawyer and his family—and, famously, their pet rabbit—leading to a bloody showdown in their new suburban home. While “Fatal Attraction” is viewed as part of a wave of “erotic thrillers” released in the eighties and nineties, Kael, in 1987, saw it instead as a “monster flick.” The monster, in this case, was the archetypal “crazy feminist” for whom Close’s character—an independent, professionally successful woman—served as stand-in. Kael’s column, in which she also reviews “The Princess Bride”—it was a notable season at the multiplex—connects “Fatal Attraction” with other political aspects of its moment, including the AIDS crisis, and makes note of a jarring outburst of homophobia. The movie, it’s clear, wouldn’t be made the same way today—and, indeed, it hasn’t been. A reimagining of “Fatal Attraction,” now an eight-episode TV series on Paramount+, premières this weekend. Also from the Archive Reflections The Movie Lover My life as a film critic. By Pauline Kael The Current Cinema The Fake Force of Tony Montana “Scarface” may be the only action picture that turns into an allegory of impotence. By Pauline Kael More from The New Yorker Novellas “The Bicycle Accident” “Of course, Arlette understood, this was not a tragedy. Tragedy would be a broken neck or spine. Paralysis for life. A coma.” By Joyce Carol Oates Culture Desk What Little Richard Deserved The new documentary “I Am Everything” explores the gulf between what Richard accomplished and what he got for it, and between who Richard was and who he let himself be. By Hanif Abdurraqib Today’s newsletter was written by Nathan Burstein. Thanks for Reading. Let us know your thoughts about today’s edition. Plus, browse more newsletters and invite a friend to sign up for The Daily. You’re receiving this e-mail because you signed up for the New Yorker Classics newsletter. Manage your preferences | View our Privacy Policy | Unsubscribe The New Yorker may earn a portion of sales from the products and services that are purchased through links in our newsletters as part of our affiliate partnerships with retailers. Copyright © Condé Nast 2023. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.