Picture this: a tuxedo-clad party guest and a sharply dressed waiter lock eyes at a glamorous event. Sparks fly. Later, in a secluded alley, she casually whispers her hotel room number. One thing leads to another, and soon he’s gliding through the hotel hallway in his all-black uniform, claiming this isn’t his usual gig. But hey, when a mystery woman slips out of her white dress in a candle-lit suite, “usual” goes out the window.
This is how Justin Kelly’s new erotic thriller Pretty Thing begins—full of seductive potential, glossy looks, and whispers of danger. But what starts as a hot and heavy encounter quickly melts into a slow-burning disaster that leaves viewers not tantalized, but tense for all the wrong reasons.
From Flirtation to Fixation
The story introduces us to Sophie (played by Alicia Silverstone), a successful marketing exec who has mastered the art of poise and control, and Elliot (Karl Glusman), a hotel waiter with an edge of mystery and a growing obsession. After their steamy one-night stand, the two take a second rendezvous—a whirlwind date in Paris, no less. It’s the kind of fantasy most rom-coms would kill for. But we quickly learn this is no love story.
Instead of evolving into something deeper or even just flirtatiously toxic, their relationship nosedives. Sophie begins to lose interest in Elliot’s increasingly awkward, needy vibe. Unfortunately, Elliot doesn’t take the hint—or the rejection—well. As their brief fling fades, he turns from heartbroken to hostile. Think Fatal Attraction, but with gender roles reversed.
Now, swapping genders in a thriller like this could’ve led to something interesting—fresh, bold, maybe even a little subversive. After all, the genre has long leaned on the “dangerous woman” trope. But instead of flipping the script in a meaningful way, Pretty Thing falls into some uncomfortable territory, mixing serious real-world trauma with the aesthetics of genre without much care or insight.
The Problem With Playing It Straight (When You Think You’re Being Subversive)
Director Justin Kelly and writer Jack Donnelly seem to be chasing a clever concept—turning the tables on the traditional stalker dynamic. The woman is the accomplished, powerful one. The man becomes the unhinged pursuer. But somewhere between intention and execution, they lose the plot—literally and ethically.
Let’s talk numbers for a second. In the U.S., over one in three women report experiencing some form of intimate partner violence or stalking. Most survivors are women. So, when Pretty Thing shows Sophie being harassed, stalked, and ultimately violated by someone she once trusted, it doesn’t feel like a sexy thriller. It feels like watching something far too close to real life—without the catharsis, without the nuance, and definitely without the entertainment.
Elliot’s descent into madness is all too familiar, but not in the ways that make a movie compelling. He calls her nonstop, lurks outside her office, breaks into her home. At one point, he humiliates her by distributing lingerie modeling photos of her right before a critical business meeting, threatening not just her sense of safety but her entire career. It’s disturbing, but not in a good, twisty-thriller kind of way. It’s just… deeply uncomfortable.
Where’s the Heat?
Erotic thrillers thrive on chemistry. We’re talking Body Heat, Basic Instinct, Unfaithful—movies that practically sweat with tension. The characters don’t just want each other—they need each other, in ways that explode across the screen. You may not root for them, but you can’t look away.
That’s the bar. Unfortunately, Pretty Thing doesn’t get anywhere near it.
Silverstone and Glusman go through the motions of a passionate affair—bedroom eyes, moody stares, clothes flying off in dimly lit hotel rooms—but there’s no actual fire. No sparks. No electricity. Their first hookup feels obligatory rather than irresistible. Their trip to Paris is more awkward than awe-inspiring. Even the moments of physical intimacy feel flat, as if choreographed from a checklist: “Step 1 – disrobe. Step 2 – pant heavily. Step 3 – fade to black.”
Instead of sizzling, their romance fizzles out before it ever really begins.
A Thriller Without Thrills
Even visually, the film lacks flair. Cinematographer Matthew Klammer paints every frame in dull, washed-out tones, which might work for a gritty detective movie, but here it just makes everything feel lifeless. The sex scenes are framed clinically, more like a biology lesson than a moment of passion. There’s no art to the camera movement, no seduction in the lighting, no pulse-raising momentum.
Tim Kvasnosky’s score doesn’t help either. It’s heavy-handed, constantly signaling how we should feel with ominous tones and moody piano chords. When your audience is supposed to be on edge, less is often more. But here, it’s all more—more mood music, more shadows, more slow zooms—and none of it adds up to actual suspense.
What’s perhaps most disappointing is that there’s no real payoff. Sophie’s journey from seduction to survival is peppered with glimmers of resistance—boxing lessons, a few moments of self-defense—but her big “comeback” lacks weight. There’s no satisfaction in her fighting back, because the story hasn’t earned it. By the time she lands a few punches, we’re already exhausted from watching her suffer, and the final confrontation feels like a horror movie cliché rather than a victorious turning point.
Even in the last moments of the film, when we’re supposed to feel like Sophie has reclaimed her power, Elliot’s voice cuts through like a jump scare: “I’m still not over you.” A line that should signal closure instead feels like a warning. Like he’ll be back. Like nothing’s really over.
And honestly? That’s not thrilling. That’s exhausting.
When Genre Falls Flat
The erotic thriller genre has always walked a tightrope between temptation and danger. The best of them understand that you need both—desire and dread—to keep the audience invested. They seduce us with characters we probably shouldn’t trust and then flip the table just when we start to relax.
Pretty Thing doesn’t understand that rhythm. It front-loads all its desire into one scene and then spends the rest of its runtime dragging us through a bleak, unsettling experience that’s neither sexy nor smart. The filmmakers seem more interested in shocking us than engaging us. But shock without substance just feels hollow.
What made Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct so iconic wasn’t just her sexuality—it was the control she had over the men in the room. What made Double Indemnity or The Postman Always Rings Twice so gripping wasn’t just the illicit romance—it was the slowly unraveling consequences that followed. In Pretty Thing, the consequences are real, but they’re not explored. They’re just inflicted on Sophie again and again, without giving her space to evolve or the story a reason to matter.
Final Verdict: Pretty Meh
There’s a version of Pretty Thing that could’ve worked. A version where the gender-flip commentary goes deeper, where the seduction scenes crackle with tension, and where the thriller elements don’t feel like a grim PSA about stalking.
Unfortunately, this isn’t that version.
Instead, what we get is a lifeless attempt at subversion—a thriller without thrills, an erotic film without heat, and a story about trauma that doesn’t seem to understand the responsibility of portraying it. The performances are fine, technically. Silverstone does her best to give Sophie some layers, and Glusman fully commits to Elliot’s downward spiral. But even good actors can’t save a film that doesn’t know what it wants to be.At the end of the day, Pretty Thing promises a stylish, steamy ride through danger and desire. What it delivers is a clunky, uncomfortable journey that leaves viewers cold. If you’re in the mood for an erotic thriller that actually delivers, best to revisit the classics. This one, despite its title, is neither pretty nor thrilling.
