Director: Paul VerhoevenGenre: War/Thriller
Key Players: Carice Van Houten
The third (and hopefully final) mention of something that has Paul Verhoeven's named attached to it's title (previous posts include Starship Troopers and Basic Instinct). In Black Book, Paul, as I like to call him, returns to his roots, with this dutch World War II spy-thriller, re-living some memories (and some made up) as a youngster growing up in occupied Holland. And as with most of Paul's work, you'll find not so subtle undertones of eroticism and sex - Black Book is no exception. But unlike the glossy sweaty sex between Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas, here he uses it almost as a reverse effect, keeping it nasty and clinical. Almost business like. Because that's what it is: an undercover operation that makes the heroine go through all possible ordeals. And with pretty devastating results. When put in jail for empathizing with the enemy, Carice Van Houten's underground spy is stripped to her bones and gets an entire dumpster filled with crap (and I mean crap in the true meaning of the word: shit, poo, ass cream) released on top of her. It's gross, humiliating and pure nasty. Black Book shines on occasion, but is really just a watered down mix between Inglorious Basterds and Lust, Caution. Make up your own mind.
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