Tag Archives: obsession

HOW TO MAKE A KILLING movie review

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A darkly comedic commentary on when ambition becomes obsession and obsession begins to rationalize itself as virtue.

There is a fine line between genius and insanity—and How to Make a Killing lives in that narrow corridor where ambition becomes obsession and obsession begins to rationalize itself as virtue. Writer-director John Patton Ford delivers a smart, sophisticated dark comedy that feels as if it has the soul of a 1940s/50s film noir but expresses itself through more contemporary cinematic means. From the moment the movie opens, you are invested in the fascinating confession of the central character of Becket.

Disowned at birth by his wealthy family, Becket Redfellow (Glen Powell) will stop at nothing to reclaim his inheritance, no matter how many relatives stand in his way.

At its heart, the film reminds us that obsession rarely announces itself as corruption. It presents as vision. As discipline. As genius. Only later do we recognize the erosion of ethics beneath it. Read superficially, the film is a crime drama about financial manipulation and moral compromise. Read more carefully, it is a character study about how the love of money—so often misquoted, so rarely understood—can metastasize into something corrosive. “The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil” is not a condemnation of wealth itself, but of fixation. It is obsession, not currency, that corrupts. And this film understands that distinction with unsettling clarity.

Based upon an early 1900s novel, Ford’s film aligns with and falls within the vein of The Big Short in subject matter but not in spirit. Both explore financial ambition as a moral gamble, but where McKay’s film is kinetic and self-aware—almost gleefully explanatory—How to Make a Killing plays like a contemporary noir stripped of voiceover and venetian blinds. It shares The Big Short’s suspicion of capitalism’s ethical elasticity, yet rejects its comedic distance. Instead, it sinks into fatalism. If McKay’s film feels journalistic—an exposé delivered with sardonic flair—this one feels like a cautionary tale whispered from a holding cell. The satire is muted. The consequences are personal. The system may be flawed, but the focus here is the individual who chooses to exploit it. Tonally, the film feels spiritually aligned with 1940s and 50s film noir. One could easily imagine this plot transposed to postwar America—smoke-filled offices, whispered deals, fatalistic narration. Though not shot as neo-noir, its moral architecture is noir to the core: ambition curdling into self-destruction, intelligence weaponized against itself, inevitability closing in with quiet precision.

Becket is not written as a villain–which is to say that he isn’t written as a classical villain from the outset. But that is the point. He is written as intelligent, disciplined, and—crucially—persuasive to himself. Each unethical decision is internally justified. Each moral line crossed is reframed as strategic necessity. The film traces how obsession reorders one’s moral hierarchy: legality becomes negotiable, relationships transactional, consequences theoretical. It is not greed in caricature form—it is incremental self-deception. Ignoring one’s conscious repeatedly will eventually mitigate the decibel to little more than a whisper before being muted altogether. However, what keeps him from turning completely from sympathetic victim to full-bodied sociopath is that Becket’s conscious does persuade him that there is a line that even he won’t cross.

We, the audience, find ourselves in an uncomfortable position. We root for Becket because we recognize his drive. We admire his focus. We even understand his resentment. Yet we simultaneously want him to stop—to walk away before the inevitable collapse. The film’s framing device, opening where his journey will likely end, casts the entire narrative under the shadow of consequence. It is not a question of whether the fall will come, but how long denial can postpone it and we are held in suspense as to what is going to eventually bring about his downfall. What distinguishes How to Make a Killing from lesser character studies is its restraint. The writer-director demonstrates equal competence in both disciplines—an increasingly rare balance. Nothing feels indulgent. Nothing feels didactic. The film never moralizes overtly; it trusts the narrative arc to indict the behavior. The pacing is clean and deliberate. The plot is simple—but the characters are complex. That is the formula for enduring storytelling.

The film also explores the many faces of wealth—and the different kinds of monstrosity it can produce. There are those who flaunt their prosperity with vulgar bravado, mistaking excess for authority. There are others who manipulate and exploit with a polished smile, weaponizing charm and access as currency. And then there are those who inflate their own sense of importance, confusing proximity to power with moral superiority. Yet the film wisely tempers its critique. Not all wealth is predatory. There are figures of means who genuinely open doors, who extend opportunity—even if their motivations are tinged with ego or paternalism. This nuance prevents the story from collapsing into caricature. The danger, the film suggests, is not wealth itself, but the moral distortion that can accompany its pursuit—or its performance.

Becket’s love interest represents the one thing in his life that isn’t transactional. She falls for him before the money enters the frame—before the inheritance becomes a possibility, before ambition curdles into obsession. He loves her too, in his way. What she offers him is not leverage, not access, not advancement—but something rarer: affection without calculation and companionship without contingency. In another life—or perhaps in another genre—that might have been enough. But noir rarely permits redemption. His compulsion, his fixation on the promise of sudden elevation, becomes the crack in the foundation. The inheritance is not necessity; it is temptation. And temptation, once entertained, demands escalation. The tragic irony is that he already possesses what he claims to be chasing—love, validation, belonging—but he cannot recognize it because he has convinced himself that worth must be quantified. In reaching for more, he loosens his grip on the one relationship capable of saving him. And in true noir fashion, the loss will not feel dramatic when it happens—only inevitable.

There is also a pointed commentary on relationships built upon status, influence, and net worth. The film suggests that when affection is contingent upon achievement—when love materializes only after measurable success—it is less love than leverage. Becket’s romantic entanglement is not merely subplot; it is thematic reinforcement. In the second and third acts especially, he is not simply pursuing someone—he is being pursued by someone whose interest aligns conspicuously with his rising value. That dynamic becomes the first step toward moral descent. Toxic relationships here are not explosive; they are aspirational. And that makes them more insidious. The film quietly warns that those who crave financial or social influence often exploit weakness and tragic flaw, convincing their target that they are both reward and refuge. The toxin may look exquisite—may even taste intoxicating—but it corrodes judgment long before its damage is visible.

How to Make a Killing is not a loud film. It is a steady one. And in tracing the psychology of a man who convinces himself he is justified, it offers a sobering reminder: the most dangerous moral collapses are the ones that make perfect sense to the person committing them–that is, until the pattern is difficult to reverse.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

BASIC INSTINCT (1992) a Throwback Thursday review

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Still suspenseful and seductive! The Paul Verhoeven hypnotic neo-noir thriller continues to entertain and fascinate us more than three decades later. Exemplary direction, writing, and acting. Every storytelling element works flawlessly together to craft a film that was a cultural phenomenon and made Sharon Stone a household name. The heavily Hitchcockian-inspired film also contains characteristics of giallo that assault the senses and add a cloak and dagger quality to the string of mysterious, gruesome crimes. The effective use of red herrings and misdirection adds to the tension, keeping audiences guessing until the final reveal. Recently, I used this film in class, and my students, none of whom had seen it before, found it to be captivating, thoughtful, and provocative.

The mysterious Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone), a beautiful crime novelist, becomes a suspect when she is linked to the brutal death of a rock star. Investigated by homicide detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas), Catherine seduces him into an intense relationship. Meanwhile, the murder case becomes increasingly complicated when more seemingly connected deaths occur and Nick’s psychologist and lover, Beth Garner (Jeanne Tripplehorn), appears to be another suspect.

Basic Instinct both pays homage to and yet subverts expectations and tropes we have of film noir. This psychosexual suspense thriller draws inspiration from the works of Alfred Hitchcock and Dario Argento, particularly Vertigo, Psycho, and Suspiria in its exploration of manipulation, sexuality, and obsession. The use of shadowy lighting, ominous music, and morally ambiguous characters all contribute to the film’s rich noir aesthetic. That, coupled with unraveling the alluring mystery of the ice pic wielding killer, makes this a gripping sensory explosion motion picture tour de force.

Jerry Goldsmith’s phenomenal score plays a vital role in shaping the film’s atmosphere, mood, and emotional impact. Through its seductive melodies, tense rhythms, and character motifs, the music enhances the storytelling and helps to create a compelling and immersive cinematic experience. Whether accompanying intimate moments or intense suspense and violence, the music enhances the audience’s experience and adds an immersion to the storytelling. Goldsmith is an underrated composer because, not only did he deliver this seductive score, but he also wrote themes and music for Gremlins, Alien, Star Trek: the Next Generation, The Omen, and more. In addition to a prolific library of work in cinema and television, his compositions also demonstrate a wide rage of styles, unlike most other composers. When discussing great composers of the music of cinema, he should definitely be in the conversation.

At its core, this seductive film explores themes of obsession, desire, power, and manipulation. The film delves into the darker aspects of human psychology, particularly the blurred lines between love, lust, and violence. It also examines the idea of control, both in personal relationships and within the criminal justice system. In an analysis of the film, one of my students described it as a chess game, with Tramell being the white pieces and Nick being black. After all these years, I never thought to read the film as a chess match, each character attempting to out maneuver the other. While the film has long sense been thought of as an elaborate cat and mouse game, I feel my student offers a much more precise reading of the film as a chess game.

Sharon Stone’s iconic career-defining role as Catherine Tramell is characterized by her magnetic presence and undeniable charisma. From the moment we meet her lounging at her beach house by the waterside, she exudes confidence and allure, drawing others into her orbit with ease. Her character subverts stereotypes, presenting a complex and empowered female character of opposition whom is both alluring and dangerous. In every scene in which she appears, she delivers her performance with incredible gravitas. And it’s this performance by which the film owes so much of its enduring legacy. That interrogation scene alone, wherein she is simultaneously in complete control of the interview whilst embracing her sexuality is still one of the best single scenes of all time, especially when exploring feminist cinema.

She isn’t a strong female character because the men around her are weak or incompetent at their jobs, she is a strong character–period–because those that surround her are smart and driven. Yet, Catherine Tramell continually proves herself throughout the film to be cunning, calm, confident, and in control of any situation in which she finds herself. Suffice it to say, Stone’s Tramell is a complex and enigmatic character who embodies the archetype of the femme fatale, a seductive and dangerous woman who manipulates those around her for her own gain. The femme fatale represents a beautiful symphony of duality that continually draws us into the story.

Tramell’s sexuality is a central aspect of her character, and Stone portrays her with a sense of agency and empowerment. She is unabashedly sexual, embracing her desires without apology or shame. Stone’s performance balances Tramell’s overt sexuality with a sense of control and autonomy, challenging traditional gender norms and expectations. Tramell is a complex character that defies social norms and mores, wielding her sexuality as a means of empowerment in a male-dominated world.

In the film’s exploration of the darker aspects of the human psyche, both Nick and Catherine become completely consumed by their mutual attraction and psychological gamesmanship, blurring the lines between lust and danger. In many ways, they are mirror images of one another, which may explain the instant fascination each has with the other. The film explores the consequences of unchecked desire and the destructive nature of obsession. Moreover, the film explores heteronormative gender norms and that liminal space between personal and professional boundaries.

Tramell’s overt sexuality challenges Nick’s masculinity and authority, leading to a complex dynamic characterized by dominance and submission. This exploration of heteronormative gender dynamics adds dimension to their relationship and underscores the film’s themes of control and manipulation. One can even take this further to read the ice pic itself as a phallic weapon that Tramell has commandeered. She exerts control over the penetrative ice pic just as she has exerted control over Nick, or at least Nick’s perception of her. Concerning the manipulation of perception, this aspect to the plot and characters is a fantastic homage to Vertigo.

Michael Douglas’ performance of the deeply flawed detective Nick Curran may not get the attention that Stone’s Catherine Tramell does, but he delivers an incredibly strong performance of the recovering alcoholic and struggling sex-addict. Nick, a man whose moral and ethical compass is constantly being tested, struggles with his past and his predisposition to impulsive behavior. His vulnerabilities and inner demons make him a compelling character, as he navigates a dangerous world while battling his personal demons.

His attraction to Tramell blurs the lines between his personal desires and professional duties, compromising his judgment and objectivity. This vulnerability adds depth to his character, showcasing his susceptibility to manipulation. Throughout the film, Nick seeks redemption for his past mistakes, making his character journey one of self-discovery and catharsis. Nick’s experiences in the roller-coaster of an investigation provide him with the tools to confront his inner turmoil and ultimately finds closure. This character arc adds emotional depth to the narrative and allows the audience to empathize with his struggles.

Basic Instinct simultaneously checks all the boxes for neo-noir, and still manages to break ground! It’s a mind-bending, mesmerizing thrill ride from start to finish that continues to age beautifully like a fine wine. It’s a bold and controversial thriller that continues to captivate audiences with its exploration of sexuality, heteronormative roles, power, and psychological intrigue.

Ryan teaches Film Studies and Screenwriting at the University of Tampa and is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Interested in Ryan making a guest appearance on your podcast or contributing to your website? Send him a DM on Twitter. If you’re ever in Tampa or Orlando, feel free to catch a movie with him.

Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry