Critic's Grade: F

"She is a beautiful woman," speaks prosecutor Robert Garrett of the defendant in "Body of Evidence." "But when this trial is over," he adds, "you will see her no differently than a gun, or a knife, or any other instrument used as a weapon. She's a killer, and the worst kind. A killer who disguised herself as a loving partner." This is the kind of courtroom malarky and stiff dialogue that participates in tanking the movie from the start. That, and the movie's obsession with just about every cliche in the courtroom drama and erotic thriller genres; with this film, we venture into so many been-there-done-that scenarios and sequences that it becomes eye-rollingly bad.

Take some of the very first sequences, for example. In the film's opening shot, the camera moves gracefully through the hallways and stairs of a wealthy estate, soon closing in on a videotape image of a couple having wild, uninhibited, sweaty sex in bed. If that doesn't scream Sharon Stone's opener in "Basic Instinct," aside from Stone herself, I don't know what does. Then we get the next morning discovery sequence, where the cops are combing the room for clues and evidence; they find the tape, and of course one of them has to make a remark about the woman's body.

The woman on the tape is Rebecca Carlson (played by Madonna, of all people), a beautiful, blonde bombshell who enjoys older men and kinky sex, much to the surprise and interest of her lawyer, Frank Dulaney (Willem Dafoe), who steps into both of the Michael Douglas roles as the seemingly devoted husband to a restaurant owner (Julianne Moore) who is led astray by hew client's persuasive moves, and as the law practicioner who finds himself torn between lustful desire and common sense.

Now don't get me wrong: Dan Gallagher and Nick Curran didn't have any more brains that this latest fly caught in the spider's web, but at least they had Douglas on their side. Dafoe, for all his attempts to try and look as if his character has no idea that Rebecca is more dangerous than she appears, just comes off and phony and hammy. Madonna, who clearly took on the role of the temptress for obvious reasons (what, you think she was in it for the brainy appeal of her character?), gets used, abused, vice versa, tit shots, blah-blah-blah, lots of masochistic acts and violent sex, yadda-yadda-yadda, a masturbation scene... do you get my point? Oh, I almost forgot: outside of these sequences, her acting still remains as stagnant as it always has been. She may have the voice, but it's not for dialogue, even that which is as cheesy and absurd as this.

So what happens? Do I really have to tell you? Save for the very last five minutes, if you've already seen "Basic Instinct" and "Fatal Attraction," you already know the answer. You know the plot. You know the caricatur- I mean, characters. You know that the filmmakers are going to throw in a false positive; unfortunately, it's "Attraction" veteran Anne Archer, playing timid secretary who has a couple of secrets of her own to hide (if you need a clearer picture, a comparison to Jeanne Tripplehorn from "Instinct" should suffice). And what's worse (or better, if taken as a warning), you know that every other five minutes of the movie is going to be riddled with heaps of bodily fluids and sexual antagonism, and for a movie that runs almost two hours, that can be quite a pain.

Everything about "Body of Evidence" is painful: the melodramatic dialogue that none of the actors have a hope of passing off as serious, the routine plot, the predictable nature of the "surprises" that squanders any intensity or suspense, and the fact that the film just has nothing new to offer other than a big-screen view of Madonna's creamy-white bosom. That, and the chance to see her get slapped not once, but twice, once by a woman, then by a man. I wanted to be that man.

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