You may find this hard to believe, but the star of Body of Evidence, an actress named Madonna, actually reveals a lot of flesh in this courtroom drama. The exhibitionism, let me hasten to add, is entirely in the service of her character, Rebecca Carlson, a sexpot dominatrix who is accused of murdering her lover, an older man with a weak heart and a big fortune, by exciting him to death. The district attorney Joe Mantegna is intent on proving that Rebecca's body is a lethal weapon.
Madonna and I are sitting side by side on her navy silk Deco sofa looking at Sex. Wearing ragged cutoffs and looking exhausted, her face blotchy and without makeup, she barely resembles the star auteur who flashes and slashes her way through the pages of Sex, perhaps the dirtiest coffee-table book ever published. I am not allowed to turn the pages.
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Ok, first things first: this is a bad movie. It deserves the Razzies as well as it's flop status. However, as a die-hard Madonna fan, I find it strangely entertaining and I watched it probably many more times than I should have. I have my reasons.
Sharon leaves, and Michael asks Frank a pointed question about his latest case. We start on the set of a homemade sex tape, where a blonde woman epitomizing the femme fatale, rides atop an old, wealthy man whose hands are tied to the bedposts. Cut to the morning and the man, Andrew Marsh, is found dead by erotic asphyxiation.
A s a pop star, Madonna is the undisputed queen. As an actor, however, most critics agree that Madonna has got some way to go before she makes it into the royal family. Back infour years before the release of her self-titled debut album, Madonna starred in barebones indie drama A Certain Sacrifice.
After the global self-publicity coup of her book Sex, Madonna still has one unrequested ambition — to be a bona fide A-list movie star. Nash Peters talks to her in New York. So the Madonna phenomenon marches on.
She bestrides the pop-cult world like a colossus, albeit a colossus with nipple clamps and manacles. But Hollywood remains her Waterloo. She must feel the heavy weight of ingratitude.
No one doubts that Madonna is a marketing genius, so how did she overlook the most obvious tie-in to her new movie? Right next to the popcorn counter at each theater showing "Body of Evidence," she should have put a little stand selling handcuffs, candles, belts and other playthings inspired by the film's on-the-edge but cautiously R-rated sex scenes. The Sex 'R Us concession is a wasted opportunity, but then movies are still the weak link in Madonna's otherwise flawlessly planned career.