The strip mall video rental store was an emporium of illicit dreams. Its doorway in the small town where I came of age, located in between candy store and pharmacy, doubled as a portal into fantasy, dark explorations of human nature, and cheap thrills that looked mightily expensive. Beginning in my early teenage years, I would complete the ritual of peddling my bicycle to the plaza, entering “Video Circle,” as it was called, and shuffling my sneakers along the old carpet, inhaling the fumes of dusty cartridge boxes, spilled soda, and dry air. If the clerk behind the desk was an old woman with bouffant, gray-blonde hair, I was out of luck. Feeling dejected, I might leave or settle for a mainstream, PG-13 Hollywood smash. If upon entry, I received no greeting, and observed that the clerk was a gum chewing brunette in her early twenties, I’d smile and scan the boxes on the shelves for anything resembling what had become my favorite genre: A genre with a name that I did not know – Erotic Thriller. 

The VHS, and later, DVD case would invariably feature a beautiful woman with seductive eyes and in provocative pose promising excitement and danger. On occasion, a tough, but usually slower witted and unsuspecting man would accompany her. Odds were high that the movie title would include the word “fatal,” “night,” “illicit,” “sin,” “passion,” or maybe even the on-the-nose, “erotic.” 

Clotaire Rapaille, a French marketing consultant to Fortune 500 companies and social theorist, writes in his book, The Culture Code, that every society has a hidden, cultural code for a subject matter – something that registers in the subconscious. He argues that the American cultural code for sex is “gun.” Not intending phallic imagery, Rapaille explains that Americans see sexuality as a gun, because it is attractive and invigorating, but also threatening. It can provide a sense of strength, but just as quickly engineer destruction. For all of his creative thinking, Rapaille misses a major opportunity to support his claim with citation of the Erotic Thriller. The entire genre of film, whether in major motion picture release or direct-to-video (DTV), exists on the predicate that sexuality is like a firearm. You can’t resist the allure of the shiny weapon, and you know you’ll pull the trigger, but the bullet might ricochet off the nearest wall, and land right in your chest.

There were the Hollywood blockbusters of Brian De Palma, such as Dressed to Kill, Body Double, and later, Femme Fatale. There was Body Heat. Then there was the groundbreaking Michael Douglas sex trilogy – Fatal Attraction, starring the frighteningly effective Glenn Close, director Paul Verhoeven’s Basic Instinct with an equally powerful Sharon Stone, and the not-so-erotic, but entertaining, Disclosure with Demi Moore. Douglas would later turn the trilogy into a quartet with A Perfect Murder, an underrated remake of Dial M for Murder, also starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Viggo Mortenson. 

Joe Eszterhas wrote Basic Instinct, and would develop his own Erotic Thriller trilogy with the unfairly trashed, Jade, and the shockingly bad, Sliver. The former boasts an immortal line from David Caruso, who as assistant district attorney of San Francisco surveys a house where the governor was photographed with a high price escort, played by supermodel Angie Everhart, sees nothing but booze and caviar in the refrigerator, and concludes, “It’s a fuck-house.” Jade also stars Linda Fiorentino, who would play one of the most conniving and ruthless femme fatales in the film, The Last Seduction. 

There was an incestuous nature to the Erotic Thriller – the movies would often star the same actors, or use the same directors or screenwriters. Angie Everhart fleshed out her film career with roles in the DTVs, Sexual Predator – an erotic thriller starring Richard Grieco – and Another 9 ½ Weeks – the sequel to the erotic drama, 9 ½ Weeks. Adrian Lyne directed 9 ½ Weeks, and would go on to direct Fatal Attraction and Unfaithful. One of the screenwriters of 9 ½ Weeks was Zalman King, the creator and head writer of Red Shoe Diaries, an erotic television program for the premium cable network, Showtime. 

Erotic Thrillers had several subgenre classifications during the golden era of the 1980s and ‘90s. From straightforward crime to horror, such as Angel Heart, the only requirement for classification was sexuality as central to the storyline; typically with seduction acting as a weapon of deceit, betrayal, and manipulation. Advancing the Rapaille “gun” theory, the movies themselves, in a meta-postmodern twist, simultaneously offered thrills and danger. Obviously, the threat wasn’t literal, but to many viewers, most especially my adolescent self, the sheer act of renting a video could feel transgressive. When I was in my early teen years, I would have to go through the trouble of hiding the rented movie from my parents, worried that they might mistake it for pornography, and as a result, adopt a more supervisory posture toward my rental habits. 

When I would insert the video in the VCR or the disc in the DVD player, I would feel as if I was entering forbidden territory. 

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Anthony Penta expertly captures the excitement and underrated brilliance of the Erotic Thriller genre in his new documentary, We Kill for Love. At nearly three hours in length, it is one of the most comprehensive, clever, and incredible documentaries I’ve ever seen. Penta interviews key players in the Erotic Thriller genre, from James Dearden, the screenwriter of Fatal Attraction, to Andrew Stevens, the creator and director of the DTV Night Eyes series of movies, which involve a security guard to the stars, temptation, voyeurism, and an assortment of other delectable ingredients. Penta also interviews scholars and critics who have studied erotic thrillers. Linda Ruth Williams and Nina K. Williams, the authors, respectively, of two books on the subject, provide insightful commentary and analysis. 

We Kill For Love takes viewers on a colorful and thoughtful tour through the lusty, but intelligent world of the Erotic Thriller. It is not merely an academic exercise, but an illustration, in its own right, of cinema with style. Penta is a creator of prose in the school of James Ellroy and Patricia Highsmith. His narration and description lands with the force of poetic noir, while the transitions of the documentary recreate the Erotic Thriller discovery experience. A delightfully creative device, Penta has an actor in what looks like a secret, underground office, thumbing through old files and battered VHS cartridges, occasionally placing a tape into an old television-VCR set. We watch as he watches – waiting to learn, waiting for the next provocation. 

Like cracking open a damaged briefcase, and finding stacks of hundred dollar bills, Penta’s documentary inspects the Erotic Thriller to find a wide variety of fascinating cultural subjects: business, gender, race, class, violence, and the changing mores separating the so called “naughty nineties” from the heightened Puritanism and judgement of the present. 

One particularly absorbing segment examines the multilayered voyeurism of the Erotic Thriller genre. A trope of the films became the secret VHS tape – catching someone in a sexual act, documentary evidence of an affair, etc. As the characters watch, attempting to determine the ethics of their gaze, they wrestle with the questions of their own curiosity and pleasure. The storytelling device places the character in the same position as the audience. Should we watch? Why do we watch?

These questions become more salient when investigating the popularity of DTV Erotic Thrillers in the 1990s. Penta finds that over 500 Erotic Thrillers hit the shelves in the 1980s, ’90, and early 2000s – a sheer volume made possible only by a confluence of factors: The technological medium of the disc and/or cartridge, the ubiquity of the video rental store, and studio economics that gave hefty financial incentive to producing relatively low budget movies exclusively for rental customers. Dearden adds an assessment of cultural sensibility to the stew, arguing that the Erotic Thriller is less prevalent in the 2020s, because of fragility regarding depictions of sexuality, especially sexuality combined with power and manipulation. An actress who starred in many Erotic Thrillers supports Dearden’s assertion in memorable fashion, telling Penta, “It is called the ‘Erotic Thriller,’ not ‘Erotic Consent.’”

The DTV Erotic Thriller, Nina K. Martin argues, was almost its own genre, distinct in important ways from the Hollywood blockbusters, mainly in its interest in women as protagonists, rather than mere foils or subjects of allure for male protagonists. In the development of its universe, the DTV ET regularly cast the same actors, most famously Shannon Tweed, the queen of the medium. In some cases, the DTV format was not a limitation, but instead, emancipatory. Poison Ivy 2: Lily, as an example, is far superior to its theatrical predecessor.

It was inevitable that the DTV thriller would influence actual TV. The cable crime drama, Silk Stalkings, running on USA throughout the 1990s, was, essentially, an episodic erotic thriller – depicting the cases of police detectives in Palm Beach, Florida, almost always involving illicit sex as motive, and if nothing else, featuring the greatest opening credits/theme in television history. 

Penta does not devote any time to Silk Stalkings, but when I inquired in email about the program, he wrote back, “I once spoke on the phone with Worth Keeter, the director of the erotic thrillers Snapdragon and Illicit Behavior. He directed an episode of Silk Stalkings in the first season. He told me the executives really freaked out when they saw the color scheme of the show. It was like Miami Vice tuned up to 11…Silk Stalkings was a reflection and response to the erotic thriller wave as it was happening, and that makes it really fun and interesting to watch now. So many actors from DTV erotic thrillers – Lisa Comshaw, Jodie Fisher, Leslie Zemeckis, Shari Shattuck, Rochelle Swanson, Amber Smith, Gary Hudson, Kehli O’Byrne, Shannon Whirry, Lisa Boyle, Lauren Hays – all appeared on the show in at least one episode. And of course erotic thriller directors such as Andrew Stevens, Worth Keeter, and Oley Sassone directed episodes. I love Silk Stalkings.”

Even if Silk Stalkings was responsive, one could plausibly argue that the opening theme of the program captures all the essential motifs and ideas of the genre: A sultry woman’s voice singing in carnal ecstasy, bluesy and suggestive guitar, images of beautiful but dangerous temptresses, beguiled male marks, weapons, wealth and luxury, such as speed boats, coastal mansions, and sports cars priced at the equivalent of a small family home.

It was a genre that, at its worst, could provide so-bad-it-is-good entertainment. Many of the DTV films fall into this category, as does the Erotic Thriller-adjacent, Eszterhas-penned, Verhoeven-directed, Showgirls. When effective, the genre not only explores the darker side of human impulses, but allows for penetration into the psychic depths of American society: Its obsession with wealth and success, its transformation of the “American dream” into a cutthroat competition for riches and glory, and its bipolar presentation and perception of sexuality. 

Penta convincingly argues that the Erotic Thriller is an iteration of film noir. Like noir, the Erotic Thriller maps the interplay between shadow and light. Carl Jung explained that it is essential for human beings to identify and measure both the light and shadows. Failure to recognize the shadows will, ultimately, lead to permanent residence within their darkened corners. 

We Kill For Love takes viewers through the shadows and light, telling the story of how Erotic Thrillers came to dominate the home video and late night cable cosmos, with even Playboy hiring recently graduated film students to make genuine movies for its then-fledging network, and how it eventually descended into cultural obscurity. Today it survives in softer form on Lifetime Television, where overzealous admirers stalk the objects of their affection, first appearing as trustworthy doctors, lawyers, or even yoga instructors. On occasion, the Erotic Thriller promises resurrection, like it did recently with the Adrian Lyne directed, Deep Water, or in its most current release, the Netflix movie, Fair Play.

At the risk of entertaining nostalgia, I would argue that much of the excitement has dissipated. I’ll forever miss pushing open the video store door, hearing the bells chime, and searching for the eyes of Shannon Tweed or the silhouette or Angie Everhart, and preparing to observe how a desperate lover risks, gains, and eventually, loses everything. 

We Kill for Love – a documentary that is a stunning achievement of stylistic ambition, intellectual rigor, and passion – provides the next best thing, and in the process, an unforgettable education. 

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I asked Anthony Penta to name his “essential Erotic Thrillers.” He answered with the following:

“My taste in erotic thrillers is idiosyncratic. Of the DTVs, I like ethereal, smoldering, psychological films set in aspirational LA locations. For this reason films such as ANIMAL INSTINCTS 2, MIRROR IMAGES, HARD DRIVE, THE PRICE OF DESIRE, INDECENT BEHAVIOR, EROTIC BOUNDARIES, ACCESS DENIED, and THE BENEFICIARY are among my favorites — though there are many others! Of the neo-noir erotic thrillers I love NIGHT EYES 3, DEADLY DESIRE, THE FINISHING TOUCH, TRADE-OFF, DEAD ON, and CRIMINAL PASSION. Of the female Gothics, I adore JANE STREET, ILLICIT DREAMS, WALNUT CREEK, SECRET GAMES 3, and POISON IVY 2: LILY. Finally, some are just great, and these are BODY CHEMISTRY, BODY CHEMISTRY 3, TEMPTRESS, A BOLD AFFAIR, NIGHT RHYTHMS, TROIS 3: THE ESCORT, SKETCH ARTIST, POSSESSED BY THE NIGHT, THE DARK DANCER, DEPRAVED, SORCERESS, DANGEROUS TOUCH, SCORNED, and THE CORPORATE LADDER.”