Why Can't I Be Like Her?
She might seduce you by dredging up that bit of kink you never knew was nestled deep within you. Think worst-acted femme fatale Rebecca Carlson, played by Madonna in Body of Evidence (1993), pouring hot wax on lawyer Frank Dulaney (Willem Dafoe), sucking her fingers, scratching, biting, toting her handcuffs, writhing like no one has ever writhed on film before. A femme fatale is an irresistibly sexy woman who lures a well-intentioned man into a life-compromising situation, sometimes enticing him into committing dangerous deeds, often criminal, but always for her own personal gain, be it money, power, independence, or all of the above. She is a one-woman con game. If she can, she'll get you to do all the dirty work, then let you take the rap, even though she might swear all along and perhaps, still, even after that she loves you.
Author James Cain could be called the daddy of the deadly dame. Some might argue, saying she dates all the way back to the Bible's very first seductress, Eve, or the lethal ladies of the classics, such as Aphrodite or Circe. But the one we know so well from the movies, primarily film noir, appears to have been inspired by Cain's gritty novels, whose plots invariably involve such a bad-influence babe. Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice (1934), Mildred Pierce (1941) and Double Indemnity (1944), all portraying one incarnation or another of the antiheroine, adapted for the screen, became Hollywood classics, solidifying the archetype, launching a trend: Scarlet Street (1945), Gilda (1946), Decoy (1946), Lady from Shanghai (1947), The Locket (1947), Too Late for Tears (1949), Angel Face (1952), continuing on to the more contemporary Body Heat (1981), The Last Seduction (1994), or Devil in a Blue Dress (1995). (I have yet to find a good one made in this millennium.)
The definition is broad enough to encompass a variegated spectrum. She could have come from the streets, been spoiled rotten or, growing up in a humdrum household, completely reinvented herself (Lena Mathers in 1993's Dream Lover with James Spader). By story's end, she often appears heartless. Although sometimes, despite her duplicity, we think we glimpse a genuine twinge of love. It could be that she is just plain addicted to lying, pathological, still faking it just to continue pulling one over on you or to save her skin (Phyllis Dietrichson in Double Indemnity), or is she? Other times, her passion for her patsy is genuine, making her capable of redemption, e.g., Cora in the remake of The Postman (1981), with a dirty, greasy, steaming Jessica Lange and Jack Nicholson.
At first, she might play hard to get, but that is how she ultimately drives in her hook. The contemporary version is highly sexed up (but who knows what happens one can only imagine in the older films femmes fatales when the screen fades to black). Linda Fiorentino's Bridget in The Last Seduction, or Bidgit as her husband relishes calling her, seems sexually impenetrable to poor small-town sucker Mike until he tells her, "I'm hung like a horse. . . . Think about it." But once he starts fucking her, she continues stringing him along by withholding the affection and approval he is so desperate for. She might, on the other hand, seduce you by dredging up that bit of kink you never knew was nestled deep within you. Think worst-acted femme fatale Rebecca Carlson, played by Madonna in Body of Evidence (1993), pouring hot wax on lawyer Frank Dulaney (a regretful Willem Dafoe?), sucking her fingers, scratching, biting, toting her handcuffs, writhing like no one has ever writhed on film before.
No matter how she tempts, once do-gooder guy has taken a bite of the poisonous apple, it is all he can think of. He might have his doubts, but he is willing to toss them aside, so he can have more. Suddenly, he is willing to do whatever it takes, including tainting the clean life he has led and had planned to always lead until then. He's intoxicated.
Most femmes fatales have soaring IQs, which they utilize to concoct complicated schemes. She seduces with her brains as much as her body. She is quick, and she is witty. Take this bit of banter between Phyllis and Walter in Double Indemn:
Walter: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket.
Phyllis: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time.
Walter: Suppose it doesn't take.
Phyllis: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles.
Despite her smarts, she is not above dumbing herself down if that will suit her purpose. Then again, she could be a total ditz. Nicole Kidman's Suzanne Stone Moretto in 1995's To Die For has to have an obvious punch line explained to her and has zero talent for becoming the dazzling TV newscaster she believes she is destined to be. Yet Suzanne, with her eye-on-the-prize tunnel vision, possesses all the earmarks sexy (especially when she is teaching her teenage tool to dance), conniving, ruthless.
But what makes these cheeky chicks so mesmerizing? I believe it is the elusive quality they share. We can never quite put a finger on what makes them tic or why their hearts have turned to granite or if that stone could ever become soft and porous. They want money and power and independence, but who doesn't? What gives them that singleness of purpose, making them behave so badly and willingly gamble their own lives? I have often wondered, while watching the end of Body Heat what will happen to the clever Matty Walker if she never gets caught. What is her next move, after lounging on the beach on that lovely island, sipping her piña coladas, after all the manicures and pedicures and clothes to fill her walk-in closets? Will she ultimately get bored? Will she need to find herself another mark? Would she ever allow herself to fall in love? Then, inevitably, comes that final question that most goodie two shoes like myself must ask themselves: Why can't I be a little bit more like her?
