“You know when you meet someone for the first time and there’s this instant attraction?” asks Alex Forrest of Dan Gallagher over a drink, echoing the trope of love (or lust) at first sight that provides and sustains agency within characters progenated in hundreds of plays, books, or movies.
“This instant attraction,” she says with a grin and a pause to wait for his response. Will he agree? Will he ignore the interrogative, pleading ignorance and assuming the object of attraction is a third party located away from this table – a la He’s Just Not That Into You. Will he emulate Cyrano de Bergerac – or the 80’s rendition, Roxanne – and resign himself to the dramatically ironic misconception that his aesthetically underwhelming features impede his pursuit of love? Those split seconds between line-delivery – moments crafted by directors, actors, and editors – coax the viewer to wonder whether Much Ado About Nothing’s Benedick will forget about social criticism and admit his love for Beatrice. Then, there’s the off-chance that the object of attraction will swallow his needs, burying them deep in the pit of his stomach and tell her to put down the drink and get back on that plane to join her husband, Victor Laszlo.
And as the credits role, you can feel a faith in humanity and sense that the universe has bigger plans for you than a job and socially constructed responsibilities. And, you can credit the warm feeling in your chest and the saccharine thoughts racing through your head to the memory that the once unrequited love became requited. Perhaps the movie was Gone with the Wind-esque, refusing to end with the perfect romance, but Rhett Butler’s victory reverberates in your chest because Scarlett got what she deserved and we “don’t give a damn” what happens to her in Margaret Mitchell’s sequel.
But what if the love remains unrequited and “this instant attraction” is confirmed and then denied, based on the semantics of “love” and the safety net suspended by an adulterer who uses the word “marriage”?
Adrian Lyne’s Fatal Attraction poses this paradox. While the most remembered – and parodied – moment in the film involves a fluffy white bunny seasoning what looks to be some delicious stock for soup, that scene, more or less, completely villainizes Alex Forrest, who in retrospect turns out to be the dupe of the entire film. For some reason, Dan Gallagher (Michael Douglas) ends up coming out clean on the other end, absolved of his actions, and the audience sees Alex as nothing but a psychopath who “won’t be ignored.”
Granted, I can’t say that Alex has no issues. In the third act of the film, she follows Dan and his wife to their new country home, unlawfully picks up their child from school (but returns her safely), boils a bunny and tries to kill Dan’s wife, Beth (Anne Archer). However (yep, really), this third act takes a drama that examines morals, values, and semantics (which is quite apt considering Dan Gallagher is a lawyer, so there’s also a satirizing of our legal system’s use of semantics to absolve the guilty of their crimes) and transforms it into a thriller that relies on the closing of a medicine cabinet and the symbiotic reveal of a butcher’s knife-wielding woman. Quite honestly, if the tone of the third act – or rather 20 minutes – were dominant through the entire movie, Fatal Attraction would be noted as Michael Douglas’ venture into horror.
So, why does it devolve in such a way? Let’s put Lyne’s misogyny aside for just a moment – see Indecent Proposal, where the man woos a woman away from love with money. Or 9 ½ Weeks, in which John (Mickey Rourke) is a wealthy man who controls a young woman sexually through the power of hypnosis so that she is completely dependent on him. You could also check out Unfaithful, in which Connie’s (Diane Lane) affair threatens to destroy her marriage; and, while she and her husband Ed (Richard Gere) reconcile at end the movie, this reconciliation is spawned by Ed’s murder of Paul, Connie’s ship-in-the-night. Essentially, the marriage is preserved through Connie’s guilt. Her actions led to Ed’s reactions, which led to a murder. If Connie left now, she would effectively burden Ed with the whole brunt of guilt for Paul’s death. However, with Connie in the picture, Ed has a way to justify his actions, those that were ultimately driven by Connie’s deceit.
Perhaps this devolution reflects the nineteen eighties where family values were touted and the collective family unit was the lynch pin that held society together and kept it from crumbling again into economic chaos. In the same vein, perhaps having the patriarch lose everything dear to him would be too much to bear. Or, perhaps the film illustrates and unconsciously plays into a construct that Shakespeare satirizes – one in which male transgressions are overlooked and female transgressions lead to ostracism and death.
At the beginning of Fatal Attraction, Dan and Beth attend a party thrown by the law firm that he works for. Among the stuffed shirts and people flocking for martinis, Dan makes his way to the bar and encounters Alex Forrest (Glen Close), who promptly rejects any flirtation and leaves Dan standing alone.
Shortly after this event, Beth and their child, Ellen, go upstate to Beth’s parents’ home and check out real estate for potential weekly respites from New York City. Dan stays in the city and attends a meeting pertaining to a case that deals with libel, one in which Alex Forrest happens to be the editor for the book in question. After the meeting, Dan and Alex exchange pleasantries on their way out of the office building, only to find themselves caught in a torrential downpour, which leads Dan to ask Alex if she would like to join him for a drink.
Over their first set of drinks, Dan’s wedding ring gleams brightly, and the topic of his marriage enters the conversation a handful of times, which is cleverly played on Dan’s part inasmuch as the introduction of evidential knowledge on the record, ideally, protects him from entering into any other relationship-based contract.
My apologies that the last line was a bit legalese, but here is the rationale: as a lawyer, the introduction of evidence and its transcription into record is how one establishes motive and creates loopholes to maneuver in and out of, if necessary.
With Dan’s marriage fully established, the conversation slowly shifts to whether or not each of them is “discreet,” which leads shortly to Dan suggesting, “I definitely think [our having an affair] is going to be up to you.” As Dan puts the decision in Alex’s hands, he absolves himself of any responsibility. He is no longer the agent, but a passive object that Alex has the choice to act on if she wishes, and any action that Alex takes would happen under the predication that Dan is off the market.
However, legalese doesn’t often determine whether or not people fall in love, even when Dan takes the opportunity to meet with Alex for a second tryst but prefaces intercourse by reminding her, “I think you’re terrific, but I’m married.” Here, “married” continues to act as a shield; thus, the subsequent sex is nothing more than a physical act, and in Dan’s mind, shouldn’t be misconstrued as anything emotionally charged – just physically. And, this is one way in which Alex Forrest is misinterpreted and turned into a villain while Dan is able to assume the role of victim.
Again, I can’t say that Forrest doesn’t have her issues. She calls a bit too much, and she strikes me as a bit clingy, but the reality is that she’s the woman scorned for another. Regardless of whether or not the man she loves is married, her feelings can’t be disregarded. This is apparent when Alex pleads with Dan as they enter a subway station: “I’m not trying to hurt you, Dan. I love you!” she says, to which Dan responds, “You don’t even know me!”
Perhaps she hasn’t known him long enough to cry “I love you!” but how does this differ from any of the movies listed above in which one character inexplicably falls in love with another? While I’m not trying to profess the possible validity or invalidity of love-at-first-sight, within the celluloid and written universe, the trope is perpetual – and hardly rational.
Something else of note is that, much like how the word “married” is entered into evidence and its implications lost on Alex, Dan ignores and discounts the validity of the word “love” and the fact that his refusal to reciprocate can not negate Alex’s feeling.
So, in the end, is Alex Forrest justified in her actions? She may take it a touch too far by boiling the bunny, but, as stated earlier, she is the woman scorned, and what’s more: she’s pregnant and feels used to the point where she “won’t allow [Dan] to bang me a couple of times and throw me in the garbage.” Regardless of whether or not we see Forrest as completely sane and rationale, we can’t discount her role in this ideal, fantasized, and sought after love-at-first-sight encounter of “instant attraction” and overlook the degradation she endures, even if she doesn’t “know the rules” that Dan has set forth.
