A Perfect Murder
I thought I knew how low Hollywood stars were willing to sink to trick people into seeing their movies -- until I heard Gwyneth Paltrow insinuate that she was naked in this film. Since I had never seen an actual naked cadaver, this held a certain appeal. Unfortunately, Gwyneth lied, so I had to satisfy my curiosity about her naked body by duct-taping two cue balls and a wig to a bamboo pole.
Beyond the false promise of a naked Paltrow, the next best reason for seeing this film was the all-too-real promise of watching Michael Douglas play Gordon Gecko from "Wall Street" for what must be the fifth or sixth time. The surprise factor ranks right up there with watching Charlton Heston give an NRA speech, watching Demi Moore's breasts amass more silicone, or simply licking a red-hot oven burner. The sensation common to all these events? Pain -- the sort of pain you get by having a tractor drag you through a thicket by your scrotum.
The filmmakers have been invoking Hitchcock's "Dial M for Murder" because this film is supposedly based on the same source material. If truly related, then "A Perfect Murder" should be considered an inbred cousin. There's about as much suspense in this film as in a model-barfing contest. Nothing interesting comes up.
Steven and Emily Taylor (Michael Douglas and Gwyneth Paltrow) are an unhappily married couple even though they're richer than sin. Emily is sleeping with an artist, David Shaw (Viggo Mortensen), and Steven knows it. So, he arranges to have her killed. The fact that Emily is too dense to figure out that Steven knows she's sleeping around is the only thing that keeps the story moving forward. If only she had seen "Wall Street" she would have known that Michael Douglas' annoyed look meant trouble.
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