Now that same director has sobered up and gone on to do fabulous and important work. Not with me, of course, as I aided in the shutdown. Being an actress used to be everything to me. Really, just everything. I used to eat, sleep, breathe, run, play, and work at nothing but acting. I loved everything about it. The feeling of pulling up to a new location, like running away with the circus. I was putty in the hands of a great director, thrilling to his every thought, and angry to be held hostage by the mediocre ones.
I wanted to be great like they were. I wanted to be a superpro. I wanted every movie to be a hit; I worked my ass off to sell my movies all over the world to make sure they were. I was proud to do it, happy to be a studio girl.
I stood up for gay actors and actresses. I told the studio when their people were not available to work because they were too high to talk or too drunk to drive. I was on the side of the studio, and I loved my job. It would be fair to say I fucked myself. Now, I suppose in retrospect, I might seem dependable. I was the one who always sold my films, good or not so good. Showed up to work on time, did my job. They preferred us to be ornaments.
I was supposed to do what I was told. I had actor approval in my contract. No one cared. They cast who they wanted. To my dismay, sometimes. To the detriment of the picture, sometimes. I had a producer bring me to his office, where he had malted milk balls in a little milk-carton-type container under his arm with the spout open. He walked back and forth in his office with the balls falling out of the spout and rolling all over the wood floor as he explained to me why I should fuck my costar so that we could have onscreen chemistry.
Why, in his day, he made love to Ava Gardner onscreen and it was so sensational! Now just the creepy thought of him in the same room with Ava Gardner gave me pause. Then I realized that she also had to put up with him and pretend that he was in any way interesting. I felt they could have just hired a costar with talent, someone who could deliver a scene and remember his lines.
I also felt they could fuck him themselves and leave me out of it. It was my job to act and I said so. This leaves us all with a little bit of our dignity. Sex, not just sexuality onscreen, has long been expected in my business. I do not in any way think that this is about my business, particularly.
But I know how scared she felt. Now, go out there and win, and they will respect you. While my dad made me strong and he made me tough, and this protected me from a sea of ravages, it also put too much armor around my femininity. It has taken the MeToo moment for my mother and I to talk and for me to gain the perspective of my true feminine power and the glory and beauty of it.
For my generation of women, this could be seen as good-naturedly spilling the milk shake I was serving onto the lap of the asshole who put his hand up my skirt as I worked my way through college in blue-collar Pennsylvania. I tried that. Tried so long to keep working without compromising myself.
People criticize me and say that men are intimidated by me. That just makes me want to cry. I was often alone on a set with hundreds of men.
Hundreds of men and me. Often not even the caterer employed women when I was first working. My makeup and hair were men. Can you imagine what it was like to be the only woman on a set—to be the only naked woman, with maybe one or two other women standing near? The costumer and the script gal?
And now I am the intimidating one. This new press circus, with the humble letting go of the accused with a tidy yet massive settlement, is not due process for what are in fact crimes, crimes for which we have not discovered practical jurisprudence.
Where is the law? Did we let our pussy-grabbing president take that with him too? I personally do not believe that we did. I believe that there is a great and good court of law for this that must be revised, reviewed, revamped, reclaimed, and reconsidered to respect the sexuality of the public as a whole.
I know that all of these women and men who have been harassed, been raped, had their jobs held for ransom, and been sexually tormented deserve their day in court. I know that to be true. I know that all of the unprocessed rape kits on police shelves everywhere must be processed so that crimes can be solved. This inaction is a true and real crime in itself. I believed that a kind of truth-and-reconciliation discussion might be a good start.
But so far, not one of them has manned up. It seemed like a more-than-fair offer, considering the humiliating and offensive state of my workplace. We must begin somewhere. There were always beasts. We tried to stay out of their way. There were always perverts. We tried to warn one another. A friend told me a story about another dear friend of ours who was driven by a guy out into a field, where he violently forced her to give him oral sex.
She came home fractured, devastated. Her girlfriends sent her back out into that field with him again, this time with a container of Krazy Glue; yes, he did it again, and yes, she squirted the Krazy Glue into his pants and ran for her life. I have worked with great men, great creative geniuses, good, decent, fun men, flirtatious, delightful men, men and women who I would trust with my life, and have.
So that is why I accept apologies, that is why I hear both sides of every story; I want due process, I want to stand up for the good ones, the wounded and the disbelieved on both sides. I believe in all of what is happening now. The law, not just the press, needs to get in gear on this. This time, this generation, the government needs to listen to us, all of us.
Do you? Many people ask me what it was like in my days of being a superstar. It was like this. Play ball or get off the field, girl. My work reflects the times when I did have the opportunity to collaborate with the good and great directors, and I sat at their feet, learning everything I could for the times ahead.
For I was not the chosen one, not the golden gal, just the sex symbol who could sometimes get the key part if she also happened to be sexy. All products featured on Vanity Fair are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.
Join Vanity Fair to receive full access to VF. And that guy changed my life. The test is online. You can watch it if you want. I was asking to be seen, and respected. I was asking to be known. It is okay to change. This was not a popular response. I was considered difficult. Then I did my best to make it count. HWD Daily From the awards race to the box office, with everything in between: get the entertainment industry's must-read newsletter. Enter your e-mail address.
Mike Jones is an author, screenwriter, world traveller and cinephile. Cinema has always moved him in a big way and aside from having seen The Talented Mr Ripley more times than any other living person, he maintains a pretty darn healthy physical media collection. By Mike Jones Published May 17, Share Share Tweet Email 0.
Related Topics Movie News basic instinct. Stephen Tobolowsky Dr. Lamott as Dr. Benjamin Mouton Harrigan as Harrigan. Jack McGee Sheriff as Sheriff. Paul Verhoeven. More like this. Watch options. Storyline Edit. During the investigation, Nick meets Catherine Tramell, a crime novelist who was Boz's girlfriend when he died. Catherine proves to be a very clever and manipulative woman, and though Nick is more or less convinced that she murdered Boz, he is unable to find any evidence.
Later, when Nilsen, Nick's rival in the police, is killed, Nick suspects of Catherine's involvement in it. He then starts to play a dangerous lust-filled mind game with Catherine to nail her, but as their relationship progresses, the body count rises and contradicting evidences force Nick to start questioning his own suspicions about Catherine's guilt. Rated R for strong violence and sensuality, and for drug use and language. Did you know Edit. Trivia No body doubles were used in any of the sex scenes.
Goofs at around 45 mins When Nick calls up Hazel Dobkin's police record it states that she was released from San Quentin in San Quentin has been men only since Quotes Catherine : You know I don't like to wear any underwear, don't you, Nick? Alternate versions The European release is much more explicit than the American release which had to be submitted seven times to the MPAA in order to avoid an NC rating. The European version is available unrated on video in the US.
The US version uses alternate, less explicit takes of several scenes to tone down the sex content. The murder of Johnny Boz in the opening scene is more graphic; we see the killer stabbing him in his neck, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest, in the face and we see the ice-pick passing through his nose.
The scene where Nick rapes Beth is severely cut in the US version we see ripping off her underwear and forcing her over the couch, then there's a cut to the two of them lying in bed.
In the uncut version Nick pulls down his pants, penetrates Beth from behind and he apparently has an orgasm. The scene where Nick and Catherine make love after going to the disco is longer much more explicit in the uncut version Nick is seen burying his face between her legs. Connections Edited into Y2K User reviews Review. Top review. Classic Verhoeven. Paul Verhoeven is one of my favorite directors. His movies are so damn entertaining.
They always, well I should say most of the time, have wit and intelligence [Forget 'Showgirls' and 'Hollow Man', any director can make mistakes] and have either graphic sex or violence or both.
It is so erotic and Stone and Douglas have so much sexual chemistry that when you look at an Adrian Lyne film, you see them for the crap they are.
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