Catherine Tramell in ‘Basic Instinct’ Is a Subversive Anti-Hero

The notion of Catherine as a subversive anti-hero develops when you view the film not as a story about the supposed protagonist Detective Nick Curran but as Catherine’s journey from mind games to almost domestic bliss but always returning to her basic instincts which threatens the Hollywood happy ending of established heteronormativity.

Basic Instinct

This guest post written by Alexandra West appears as part of our theme week on Unpopular Opinions.


What happens when we love something problematic? What happens when in the middle of something problematic there’s something unique, interesting, and incredibly refreshing? How do we as audience members look for the potentially progressive nuggets that drive a filmic narrative forward in new and interesting ways while also understanding that nugget can come wrapped in a basket of deplorable politics? One such case worthy of examination is Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone) as a progressive anti-hero in Paul Verhoeven’s blockbuster erotic thriller Basic Instinct (1992). The notion of Catherine as a subversive anti-hero develops when you view the film not as a story about the supposed protagonist Detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas) but as Catherine’s journey from mind games to almost domestic bliss but always returning to her basic instincts which threatens the Hollywood happy ending of established heteronormativity.

Set in San Francisco, notably one of the most queer-positive cities in North America, Basic Instinct centers on the murders of men possibly committed by Catherine, a beautiful, wealthy, murder mystery author with a degree in psychology. The murders all mirror crime scenes directly from her books and homicide detective Nick Curran becomes entangled in the crimes and obsessed with Catherine. Nick can’t decide if Catherine is behind the murders or if he’s in love with her or both.

Throughout the film, Catherine’s bisexuality is at the forefront of her character which marks her as transgressive to the hetro-male oriented police force while the other female characters in the film are also implied or explicitly coded as bisexual or lesbian. Any subtly or nuance in regards to the queer experience in a mainstream blockbuster is wiped away in favor of brash eroticism and the ultimate objectives of  Nick who imposes his heteronormativity on his relationships, particularly with Catherine. Nick’s hope is that he’ll be enough for Catherine to settle down for. Catherine is framed in contradistinction to Nick’s almost girlfriend Beth (Jeanne Tripplehorn) a police therapist who plays the typical “good girl” with a maybe sinister past. Nick (and the film) can’t help but conflate both Catherine and Beth in his mind through the lens of the virgin or the whore. Ultimately, Nick’s desire to render Catherine as his own private virgin drives the film towards a mainstream conclusion.

Basic Instinct

But what of Catherine, the object and prize of the film? Through all the gross biphobia, homophobia, and misogyny of Basic Instinct, Catherine remains an enigma. Her role in the film as foil to Nick’s heteronormative dream is what’s most subversive about her as a character. Her alluring presence confounds those around her; her placement in the film is a clear nod to the femme fatale role, but Catherine occupies the role of narrative driver. The ultimate satisfaction of Basic Instinct in subsequent viewings stems from watching her manipulate the narrative and those around her, watching protagonist Nick succumb to her charms and power. Catherine continually and enjoyably plays with Nick prodding him towards his reckless ways of drinking, drugging, and indiscriminate sex. However, instead of attempting to create husband material out of Nick, Catherine utilizes him for her own purposes of her new book. Her means to an end finishes with her book, her creation, her narrative – not wedded bliss. Catherine’s role as an author is posited by the film as a potential red herring when in fact it actually marks her as the maker of meaning, conducting research through her own means.

It is her manipulation which allows Nick to reflect, grow and change throughout the film for better and for worse allowing him to be the hero he thinks he is. Nick completes the narrative she constructs for him. If he did not play along with her suggestions and supposed whims the film could have had a very different outcome but as Basic Instinct stands, Catherine developed Nick’s narrative of one of toxic masculinity viewing everything other as a threat which in its dark ending suggests that Nick’s white-picket fence goals are as unfounded as the film’s dangerous portrayals of homosexuality.  As Nick views Catherine as a prize, she views him as a character in one of her books and just as disposable. Ultimately, Nick needs Catherine more than she needs him.

Basic Instinct

While Catherine does inhabit the role of the Dangerous Woman (a seemingly modern version of the film noir femme fatale character) cliché and the Murderous Bisexual Women trope, it’s important to acknowledge what is unique and perhaps even progressive about her. She is both the architect of the narrative and her own destruction as she struggles against giving up her agency in favor of a “normal” life. In order to act as a good mother or wife, she’d have to give up the things that made her interesting and alluring in the first place, illuminating the flaws of the patriarchal “happy ending” and ultimately mocking the very thing the film attempts to confirm as an “acceptable” way of life. The role she never gives up on is that of author and creator; her sexuality, identity, and motives are all fluid based on the situation but her God-like power in the film is unmistakable. The film even flirts with a near happy ending for Nick and Catherine which is where the film would have ended if Nick was the true protagonist but instead, the film ends with the vantage point of Catherine’s true intention.

Stone would go on to reprise the role of Catherine Tramell in Basic Instinct 2 (2006) as the only holdover from the previous film. Stone has had a problematic relationship with the original film herself, decrying that the infamous leg-crossing shot was achieved and exhibited without her consent which in essence is the film doubling-down on its problematic nature. Watching the film in this day and age, its troubling and problematic elements ring through clearer than church bells, but the film is also a hugely important cultural touchstone for 1992 as it was the 4th highest grossing film of 1992. The film is marked by Verhoeven and screenwriter Joe Eszterhas’ penchant for creating watchable chaos and mayhem (see also Showgirls) with the film perpetually creating a new audience for itself based on the film’s taboo-inclined nature. Looking back at Basic Instinct as a piece of media that was so widely and readily consumed, its façade is still marred by biphobia, homophobia, and misogyny, yet it’s satisfying to know that Catherine still remains at large, a threat to everything Hollywood deemed acceptable.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

The Trope of the Murderous Bisexual Woman

Biphobia in Basic Instinct


Alexandra West is a freelance horror journalist and playwright who lives, works, and survives in Toronto. Her work has appeared in the Toronto Star, Rue Morgue, Post City Magazine and Offscreen Film Journal. She is a regular contributor to Famous Monsters of Filmland and a columnist forDiabolique with “The Devil Made Us Watch It.” In December 2012, West co-founded the Faculty of Horror podcast with fellow writer Andrea Subissati, which explores the analytical side of horror films and the darkest recesses of academia.

Biphobia in ‘Basic Instinct’

The film is extremely biphobic and includes many of the most negative stereotypes about bisexuality, particularly in terms of bisexual women… ‘Basic Instinct’ manages to have not one but three queer women characters, including two canonically bisexual ones, and they all are written as stereotypes.

Basic Instinct

This guest post written by L.M. Zoller appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation. | Spoilers ahead.

[Trigger warning: discussions of biphobia and mentions of sexual violence.]


Director Paul Verhoeven desperately wants Basic Instinct to be an updated Hitchcock classic (not that Hitchcock was so great on the “evil queer” angle either), taking the psychosexual element to the MPAA limit for 1991, but he clearly forgot that biphobia and “edgy” sex scenes make for a terrible thriller. The film is extremely biphobic and includes many of the most negative stereotypes about bisexuality, particularly in terms of bisexual women: that bisexuality is fake, particularly in the sense of heteronormativity and sapphophobia; conflating bisexuality with mental illness; that queer women exist for the male gaze; and the idea that queer women “recruit” straight women. All this, and the word “bisexual” is never even uttered once.

At the beginning of the film, Detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas) has been called in to investigate the murder of aging rock star Johnny Boz, whom we see being tied to a bed and stabbed to death with an ice pick by a blonde woman whose face we never see. The primary suspect is Boz’s eventual girlfriend Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone), a novelist who writes murder mysteries; her latest novel was about an aging rock star murdered in the exact fashion Boz was. Nick falls into instant lust with Catherine but isn’t sure if she’s the killer; Catherine decides to write a book about Nick, about “a detective who falls in love with the wrong woman.”

One of the issues with queer representation in media is that tokenism creates the burden of representation: the one character must then represent all of queerdom — and none of its intersections or the diversity of LGBTQIA+ experiences. Thus, including more queer characters ought to offset the burden and allow the creators to show a diversity of personalities, gender expressions, and lived experiences, as well as intersections with socioeconomic status, race, ability, etc. Basic Instinct manages to have not one but three queer women characters, including two canonically bisexual ones, and they all are written as stereotypes.

Basic Instinct

The queer community protested the film in 1991-2 during the filming and release for exactly this reason. In the article “Homosexuals In Film: The Controversy Gay Activists Say ‘Basic Instinct,’ Opening Friday, Is A Perfect Example Of What Is Wrong With Hollywood’s Vision,” journalist and film critic Lewis Beale collected the same comments from activists that we’re still making in 2016 regarding better representation of queer characters, especially non-monosexual and trans characters:

“There has been a nonstop, decades-long portrayal of gays as psychopaths, sociopaths and screaming queens,” says Robert Bray of the Washington-based National Gay & Lesbian Task Force. “I don’t mind a gay villain or two, but I also wouldn’t mind a gay or lesbian hero. No one is calling for cultural censorship, but we are asking for diverse representations.”

….As Leonard Maltin, the film historian who appears on Entertainment Tonight, puts it: “If gays are frequently portrayed on film, then the fact that some are villains isn’t going to matter. But when you see them infrequently, then each portrayal carries a disproportionate amount of weight with the audience.”

(Please note that some of the language in this article, including quotes by activists, does not include the term bisexual.)

Catherine Trammel is a bisexual, polyamorous, possibly aromantic novelist who specializes in murder mysteries that happen to come true. Let me be clear that this film does not paint Catherine as the hero or even the anti-hero, but rather as a hypersexualized sociopath. The detectives are incredulous that she wasn’t in love with Johnny Boz but had a long-term sexual relationship with him, which she initiated to write her novel and maintained because she enjoyed sex with him. Catherine is supposed to have this cat-and-mouse sexual tension with Nick, but it rings false: she actually seems to be calling him out on his heterosexism by talking back to him. However, because the film conflates bisexuality with psychopathy, her flippant remarks to Nick Carran are supposed to be interpreted as the evil queer woman using her sexuality to goad the heroic everyman character into ruining his life for her. For example, when Nick announces that the sex they just had — exceedingly heteronormative fare other than the fact she ties him up like Boz — was the “fuck of the century,” Catherine laughs at him and says it was “a pretty good start.” He thinks he’s God’s gift to women; she’s clear with him several times that their relationship is a means for her to write her detective novel.

Basic Instinct

Catherine’s refusal to even acknowledge Nick’s puffed-up male-privilege-steeped ego enters into both of their relationships with the second queer character in the film, Roxy (Leilani Sarelle). Roxy is Catherine’s girlfriend; she is only shown as Catherine’s partner and barely has any lines at all, so it’s unclear if she is also bisexual or if she identifies as a lesbian. Roxy is portrayed as a tomboy femme and a different stereotype — the jealous lover who is ousted by a straight man. In the scene prior to the sex scene, Nick picks up Catherine in a club. Everyone looks fabulous and fierce, especially Roxy and Catherine; Nick walks in wearing a dad sweater and jeans. Catherine picks him to go home with instead of Roxy in what feels like a heavy-handed metaphor for compulsory heterosexuality. He merely has to show up and ham-fistedly grab her butt for her to be more interested in him than in Roxy.

When Roxy confronts Nick in the bathroom after Catherine and Nick have had sex, Roxy claims Catherine likes her to watch her have sex; when Catherine confirms that Roxy likes to watch, the following exchange happens:

Nick: I guess Roxy’s not taking this too well.
Catherine: She’s seen me fuck plenty of guys.
Nick: Well, maybe she saw something she’s never seen before.
Catherine: She’s seen everything before.
Nick: Honey, I thought I’d seen everything before.
Catherine: Did you really think it was so special?

Catherine rebukes him at every turn about her relationship with Roxy; Nick continues to mansplain her own relationship to her. However, Roxy really is angry with him and tries to run him over with her car as he exits a bar. He chases her in his car, eventually running her off the road, and killing her in a classic case of dead lesbian/bisexual syndrome. She never got jealous about other men, according to Catherine, but Nick is so special that apparently she has to murder him, picking up the tropes of jealous partner, murderous queer woman, and angry (soft) butch all in one go.

Basic Instinct

The final queer woman character is Dr. Beth Garner (Jeanne Tripplehorn), who fulfills the stereotype of a straight woman “recruited” by (murderous) queer women or the murderous closet case. Beth is a psychologist working with the San Francisco Police and acting as Nick’s psychologist after an incident where he shot several tourists by accident. She slept with Catherine in college; she had a relationship with Nick and used to be married to another man; a former acquaintance tells Nick that Beth’s marriage dissolved because she had a girlfriend. However, when Nick questions her about sleeping with Catherine, Beth claims that she isn’t queer: “Hey, guys, I’m not gay, but I did fuck your suspect? I was experimenting; it was the only time I’ve been with a woman.” Immediately after, she says, “She’s really sick you know,” and claims that Catherine was stalking her in college, which counters Catherine’s claim that Beth was obsessed with her.

Of course, Beth’s fear of being out at work or being connected to the suspect isn’t unmerited. Whereas Catherine, a mystery writer, remains unaffected in her career by her sexuality and sexual history, Beth might not be taken seriously as a psychologist or in law enforcement if she were out as bisexual, and coming out to a room full of men who can barely understand a woman having sex for pleasure seems like a nightmare. Instead of using this plot line as a vehicle to discuss bi erasure, the need for LGBTQIA-inclusive ENDA or anti-oppression training, or the concept of bisexuality as who you are, not whom you’re with, the film just conflates her sexuality with psychopathy. She and Catherine both accuse each other of stalking, and Beth is later revealed or framed (?) as the murderer. Like Roxy, Beth is also killed by Nick, who shoots her because he thinks she has a weapon.

Throughout this whole film, no one ever says the word bisexual. Catherine doesn’t discuss her sexuality at all but discusses past and present partners of same and different genders without hesitation. Roxy barely gets to speak, let alone discuss her sexual orientation. Beth claims not to be “gay” (which could be read as either a 90s umbrella term or as lesbian-identified/monosexual). The lack of inclusion of the term is just the cherry on the biphobia sundae that is Basic Instinct.

It’s also important to note that of the three women, only Catherine survives. Are both Roxy and Beth dead because they refused to do what Nick, the cishet man, wanted? Or, if the film is actually Catherine’s novel Shooter, did she or Nick tack on the “happy ending” at his request instead of having the “wrong woman” murder him?

Nick is a biphobic, mansplaining rapist (trigger warning: there is a scene in which Nick and Beth are having consensual sex where she tells him to stop and he doesn’t) with an inflated ego and anger management issues who is decidedly not redeemed in the narrative of the film. While he had tried to redeem himself after committing violence prior to the start of the film, he got sober but didn’t work on any of his numerous issues with male privilege, rape culture, or monosexism. From a bisexual lens, the element of horror in this film is not that Catherine or Beth might be a murderer, but that Nick is supposed to be the hero.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

The Trope of the Murderous Bisexual Woman


L.M. Zoller is a genderqueer bisexual writer living in Seattle. Ze write the blogs I’ll Make It Myself!, about food and gender, and The Lobster Dance, a blog about about geekery and gender, featuring the annual Feminist Halloween series and The Non-Binary Book Club. Zir work has been published in Render: Food and Culture Quarterly (forthcoming Fall 2016), Feministe, and Have You Nerd?.

If It Were, We’d be Dating: The Tale of Brittany and Bisexuality on ‘Glee’

Brittany’s sexuality, while never explicitly stated by the character as bisexual, goes unconcealed for the most part because the ‘Glee’ audience is led to believe that she doesn’t have much agency over her own personal life. … Sure, ‘Glee’ might be one of the only shows on television to use the word bisexual to describe a character, but all the biphobia it exhibits sort of nullifies that progress.

Glee 
This guest post written by Shira Feder appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


“Sex is not dating,” Santana Lopez (Naya Rivera), the outspoken Latina cheerleader, announces. It is season one, episode thirteen of Glee, the newest hit teen show to grace America’s television sets, and millions of people are watching.

“If it were, Santana and I would be dating,” parries Brittany S. Pierce (Heather Morris). An unquantifiable number of interested audiences lean forward, crane their heads. Did she really just say that? Yes, Brittany did, and thus the romance between goofy, purportedly bisexual Brittany Pierce and self-proclaimed “bitch” with a heart of gold, Latina lesbian Santana Lopez would go on to catalyze some of Glee’s highest highs and lowest lows.

TV isn’t created in a vacuum. Today more than ever, fan influence has planted itself inside the writers room. Brittany’s throwaway joke inspired interested fans in what was potentially Glee’s first Sapphic coupling. Fans rallied themselves in endorsement of the couple, but had to wait until season two, episode four, to see any intimacy between the two, presented in the form of neck nuzzling because on-camera kissing may have been “too scandalous” for a family show.

“Bisexual’s a term that gay guys in high school use when they wanna hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change,” Kurt tells the undecided Blaine in season two, episode fourteen. While Kurt’s comment could have been further explored, it’s not; it’s a stance of bi erasure, and one that remains firmly in place amongst the series’ ideologies, right between “The show must go on!” and “80% of screen time is reserved for heterosexual couples.”

Glee

Brittany’s sexuality, while never explicitly stated by the character as bisexual, goes unconcealed for the most part because the Glee audience is led to believe that she doesn’t have much agency over her own personal life. The folks behind Glee, Ryan Murphy and company, have never known quite what to do with Brittany. Her character fluctuates from being an infantilized teen who believes in magic combs and allows Santana to manipulate her into sex — which reinforces rape culture and plays into the ugly underpinnings of stereotypes, all of them involving the myth of the voracious lesbian who preys on innocent straight girls — to a Mensa-accepted mathematical genius. The implication that Brittany is flighty or vapid thus “excuses” her bisexuality by the show’s terms because she is not fully aware of what she is doing, bouncing from one person to the next. Various writers and critics have even questioned her ability to even consent to sex after exhibiting such childlike tendencies. So, the only known bisexual character on Glee is not exactly drowning in self-awareness, making this already lukewarm support of bisexuality even less encouraging than it could (or should) be. Then again, this is Glee; if you’re not insulted by something the series does, you aren’t paying attention.

In season four, episode nine, Brittany tells Sam she cannot date him because she is worried the lesbians of the nation will harass him:

“It’s like, all the lesbians of the nation, and I don’t know how they found out about Santana and I dating, but once they did, they started sending me, like, tweets and Facebook messages on Lord Tubbington’s wall. I think it means a lot to them to see two super hot, popular girls in love, and I worry if they find out about you and I dating that they’ll turn on you and get really violent and hurt your beautiful face and mouth.”

In trying to prevent fan backlash by acknowledging it, the writers instead managed to alienate a diverse fanbase, by refusing to even mention bisexuality. The preemptive assumption in these lines, that Brittany and Santana’s relationship is only for the “lesbians of the nation,” thereby excluding any other sexualities, ignores the variety of different “Brittana” fans who exist that might have been proud to see a fellow bisexual person on-screen. The writers should’ve known better than to alienate their fanbase by defensively accusing them of caring too much, immediately followed by the threat of violence. Brittany’s confusing response, where she doesn’t mention her own sexual orientation and instead speaks in vague terms about lesbians, presents Glee’s lack of clarity on sexual fluidity.

Glee

The other narrow-minded conjecture here is that lesbians in the audience will be actively upset that Brittany is not dating another girl because of the television fallacy that bisexual people “become straight” when they are dating someone of the opposite gender. The so called “lesbians of the nation” were not angry about Sam; they were concerned about the possibility of Glee reinventing Brittany’s character as someone who experimented in high school, as character continuity was never Glee’s strong suit. They’re angry about being insulted in a tossed off meta-reference reducing their valid emotions and opinions about representation into a punchline. There is definitely an interesting argument to make against fan entitlement, but it doesn’t belong here.

The lesbian anger that erupted because of Brittany’s line seemed to be less about Brit moving on with Sam and more about the fact that their new relationship was given more airtime than Brittany and Santana’s relationship ever was. Brittany being with Sam doesn’t dilute her bisexuality, yet by the narrow binary Glee created, it does. “But she was bi!” protests Sam about Brittany in this same episode, as though being bisexual precludes him from ever being able to think of Brittany romantically. When Brittany finally decides Sam is too hilarious to let go, Brittany tells a worried Sam that the lesbian blogger community is “not gonna like it, but the way I figure is that, they know they’re my sisters, and love is love.”

Using the phrase “love is love” is a pretty interesting word choice here, considering that exact phrase was used as a campaign tool during the marriage equality fight to legalize same-sex marriages in the U.S. The phrase was used to appeal to the straight majority of Americans by showing them how “normal” LGBTQ people are, that queer people are capable of love and monogamy just like straight people and they wanted access to the same rights as everyone else. Using this queer-coded terminology here, after railing against the lesbian blogger community, is an odd choice to defend a relationship that passes as heterosexual.

Glee

In season five, episode two, long after the couple has broken up, Santana says about her new lesbian girlfriend:

“Isn’t it amazing how life seems so easy when you just don’t give a fart? I mean, look at this: Hummel is getting married, Berry is just full of confidence, and I finally have a girlfriend who I don’t have to worry about straying for penis.”

Now, this is Brittany who Santana is referencing. This is the girl who worshiped and protected Santana, who took awhile to even think about another person after Santana broke up with her. This biphobic line furthers the trope of the promiscuous bisexual. Santana says this in front of people who knew her and Brittany in high school and were aware of how sacred Brittany saw their relationship. Santana’s “hilarious” zinger goes unchallenged, even though it flies in the face of every minute of character development we’ve previously seen from both Brittany and Santana, painting Brittany as sexually rapacious and Santana as the self righteous, biphobic lesbian. Sure, Glee might be one of the only shows on television to use the word bisexual to describe a character, but all the biphobia it exhibits sort of nullifies that progress.

It wasn’t just the show’s writing that confused viewers; its personal politics were often drawn into question as well. The actors involved ventured into perilous territory when discussing the two girls. Chris Colfer, who played Kurt Hummel, said in an AfterEllen interview: “Maybe Brittany and Santana are just so sexual they don’t know how to have a relationship with anyone that isn’t sexual.” This is an unfortunate statement that pushes the damaging stereotype of the predatory, promiscuous bisexual.

When asked in an interview with The Advocate about the possibility of an on-screen kiss between the girls, Heather Morris said, “I don’t think so. I asked Ryan [Murphy] about that and he said there was no way. He said that since we’re a prime-time television show, he didn’t want to do that.” Brittany had already been filmed kissing a member of the opposite sex. The abundance of screen time Brittany was given when in a heterosexually passing relationship (with Sam and Artie) only complicates the fraught relationship Glee has with representation, walking a fine line between being a “family-friendly show” (as if somehow LGBTQ characters and their relationships aren’t family-friendly) and a television series that is a safe haven for the misunderstood and marginalized.

Glee

In season six of Glee, Brittany and Santana reunite. They get their own happily ever after episode, complete with two wedding dresses and talks of forever. They shared more on-screen kisses in season six than any other season, which perhaps has something to do with the fact that this is the disgraced Glee’s final swan song, in a last ditch attempt to cement its legacy as an LGBTQ-friendly prime-time television show. Brittany seems to have forgotten she ever dated Sam, which can be generously viewed as Brittany wanting to commit to her future without thinking of the past, rather than the writers again not knowing how to handle Brittany’s sexual orientation.

Amid the murky mire of Glee’s personal politics, a path to a blissful conclusion has been carved out for the fan favorites. “The world seemed so scary and confusing. It was just too fast. It made me feel dumb, just because my brain worked differently,” says Brittany in her vows. “I would’ve suffered it all just for the tiny chance to be standing up here marrying you.” Next to her, Santana beams. Bisexuality is irrelevant when there is monogamy to think about. While it’s great to see a happy ending for two queer women characters (one a woman of color), it’s frustrating it occurred amidst bi erasure and biphobia.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Queer Women as Sexual Beings: The L Word and More
Glee and Trans Men
Becky, Adelaide, and Nan: Women with Down Syndrome on Glee and American Horror Story
Glee‘s Not So Gleeful Representation of Women with Disabilities
Women and Gender in Musicals Week: Glee


Recommended Reading:

The Most Random Fandom | A well curated blog with brilliant analysis of Brittany and Santana that handles each Glee episode individually.
13 TV Shows with Lesbian and Bisexual Female Characters Who Are Getting It Right via Autostraddle


Shira Feder is a writer from New York who can be found at http://shirafeder.tumblr.com/ if she ever figures out how to use it.