Jagged Edge (1985) The’80s Neo-Noir that Pre-empts Basic Instinct (Review)

The 1980s saw the return of noir in Hollywood. Heralded as the neo-noir, these films revelled in their adult thriller status, creating sub-genres such as the yuppie in peril movie and the erotic thriller. It was arguably Lawrence Kasdan’s 1981 movie Body Heat that kickstarted the whole revival, making stars of its leads William Hurt and Kathleen Turner. A suitably steamy affair that afforded movie fans the opportunity to wallow in the knowingly paid homage to the classic thrillers of the ’40s, whilst updating them for the stylish, neon-soaked designer ’80s.

Fast forward four years to Jagged Edge, released on Blu-ray by the Indicator label this week. It’s a film that shares some common links with Body Heat. The writer/director of that film, Kasdan, had provided the screenplay for the 1983 Star Wars sequel Return of the Jedi, and here it is the director of that space opera, Richard Marquand, who helms this neo-noirish erotic courtroom thriller. John Barry scored Body Heat and he’s responsible for the soundtrack here too – though it’s a much more forgettable offering here, sadly. Like Body Heat, Jagged Edge has many twists and turns too, only this time it’s a film that switches the gender roles, placing the woman on the side of the angels and in search for the truth in the ‘detective’ role and the man as the dangerously attractive figure – a homme fatale perhaps?

When the bodies of San Francisco heiress Page Forrester and her housemaid are found brutally murdered in Forrester’s remote beach house, suspicion falls on her devastated husband Jack, played with a thoroughbred Kennedy charm by Jeff Bridges. Determined to clear his name, Jack hires one-time hotshot lawyer Teddy Barnes (Glenn Close) to defend him, despite the fact she hasn’t handled a criminal case for many years. Soon enough, a mutual (fatal) attraction starts to develop between client and defender. Teddy begins to receive anonymous letters produced on a vintage typewriter that proves the author has information about the case that is not open to the general public. When Teddy calls on a former mistress of Jack’s she begins to see parallels in her own burgeoning relationship with him, placing her in a difficult position – does she listen to her heart or does she listen to what the evidence is telling her?

I have to say that I immediately spotted the twist here and, if you don’t want to know it, then stop reading now. I fully expected him to be guilty as hell for the Manson family-style slaying that starts the action, especially as he plays it just that little bit too WASPY clean-cut to be true. With that in mind, it did start to alarm me when the film then seemed to be going all out to paint him as innocent in its later stages thanks to Peter Coyote’s red herring prosecutor, Thomas Krasny. I feel Coyote’s character was painted very black indeed, bending the rules to ensure Jack is found guilty purely because the millionaire had repeatedly criticised him in the press. It’s a development that exists just to put that element of doubt into the audience’s minds and to be honest, I’m not sure it was really needed, and it certainly didn’t need that subplot about him burying evidence that could have proven the innocence of a previous client he and Glenn Close had prosecuted. 

The film is written by Joe Ezterhas, who would take the neo-noir into its seamier guise of erotic thriller in the early 90s with the ludicrously successful Paul Verhoeven movie Basic Instinct which made Sharon Stone – and her chuff – a star and got men thinking about going to the gym after seeing Close’s Fatal Attraction (the daddy of all yuppie-in-peril thrillers) co-star Michael Douglas’ pendulous buttocks. Indeed, Ezterhas’ Jagged Edge pre-empts all of that later film’s beats – a charismatic suspect and an investigator who falls under their spell – but is thankfully much more restrained, underplaying the sex and violence that would come to mark out this kind of studio genre pictures and benefitting from Bridges and Close’s decision to play the roles as multi-dimensional human beings. This is a good example of a mainstream ’80s thriller, one which boasts some compelling courtroom scenes and bagged Robert Loggia an Oscar nomination, which is absurd when you consider it’s a very minor role of gumshoe Sam Ransom which affords him nothing to do other than grumble and swear! Someone obviously saw some potential in what Close and Loggia were offering, however, as a sequel was in the works at Columbia for some time after this had been released. Ultimately, it was a regime change at the studio – Gary McElwaine’s exit making way for David Puttnam – that nixed the follow-up, which would have seen Close defend a private investigator (possibly Loggia’s character) framed for murder. The reason for its cancellation remains disputed. Producer Martin Ransohoff claims Puttnam had a personal dislike of sequels, whilst Puttnam argued that the script simply wasn’t good enough to warrant being greenlit.

For what it is Jagged Edge is an enjoyable enough film, though I have to advise caution; I doubt it is one that would stand up to many rewatches, simply because I suspect that further inspection would lead to the discovery that Ezterhas’ script has more holes than your average sieve. But hey, it’s the ’80s – if you want a good tasty movie to enjoy and move on, then that’s what they did well. This release from Indicator boasts extras including new interviews with Ezterhas and editor Sean Barton, an appreciation of John Barry from David Huckvale, a trailer and radio spot and an image gallery with archive promo and publicity material.

Louis Theroux has always been fascinated by Michael Jackson. And Graham and Aidan have always been fascinated by Louis Theroux. So it makes perfect sense – ish – to follow up yesterday’s Moonwalker episode with a look at Theroux’s 2003 documentary trying to gain access to the King of Pop at a difficult time in, frankly, both men’s careers. Join us for a discussion of all four of the men this film focuses on: the national treasure that is Theroux, the more problematic figure of Jackson, the recently disgraced Martin Bashir… and Uri Geller.

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