Many of the reviews to be shared in this space will come from my time as co-host and co-producer of The Reel Thing, the WWSP-FM radio show where I first took a spin a genuine film critic. There were a few other outlets that deigned to distribute my words, the most natural of which was the student newspaper, with offices directly adjacent to the radio station that was my most consistent collegiate home. I’d actually had an earlier stretch as a writer for the The Pointer, penning a terrible, under-conceived column in the first semester of my freshman year. Thankfully I did so under a pseudonym (J.S. Morrison), so when I rejoined the writing staff a couple years later, I could pretend that it was my actual debut.

Naturally, I wrote film reviews, transferring what I was doing for The Reel Thing from radio scripts to newspaper copy. It was an extremely useful exercise, writing for different audiences and entirely different formats. I couldn’t write with intent to further emphasize my points with inflection and verbal emphasis. Everything I wanted to say had to be on the page. It also forced me to expand my analysis, since I wanted, as much as possible, to avoid repetitiveness. I didn’t rewrite my radio reviews. I started from scratch (though the structure of the radio show did mean that about the half the time I was writing my Pointer reviews on films my program partner had been assigned for the broadcast). It was be years before I would tap that skill again, but it did make it less intimidating when, say, I found myself writing about Frances Ha four times (or more) in the span of about six months.

This wasn’t the first review I wrote for The Pointer, but it was certainly one of the bigger films I covered for the paper.

The immense success of “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Cape Fear” insured that 1991 will be remembered as the year of the thriller in movieland. It also insured that 1992 will be the year of quickly-made, cheap knockoffs trying to capitalize on the prosperity of those releases. In fact the new year has already seen the release of “Final Analysis,” a blundering dud of a movie trying to pass as an erotic thriller.

At least one film among the new and ever growing crop of thrillers actually held some promise, though. “Basic Instinct” from director Paul Verhoeven (“Total Recall,” “Robocop”) promised to be a tense, steamy cop drama with enough twists and turns to keep the audience reeling. Unfortunately, the film is simply too convoluted to be effective storytelling.

Michael Douglas plays a cop with a dark history who’s haunted by his past. Nicknamed “Shooter” after accidentally gunning down some tourists, Douglas is working his way through therapy and trying to turn his life around by giving up his vices.

He’s nearly recovered when he’s put on a case involving the grisly murder of a retired rock ‘n’ roller. The chief suspect is a sexy novelist (Sharon Stone) whose latest book mirrors the icepick slaying. Stone plays the character with fiery zest. She’s an ice queen who lives for the joy of manipulating people and using her sexuality as a tool. Stone’s piercing eyes and confident attitude provide the makings for a lethally appealing villain.

Beyond that performance, there’s not much going on in “Basic Instinct” that hasn’t been put on screen several times before. Douglas falls in love with Stone even though she may be a murderer. He’s constantly changing his mind about whether or not she’s the killer. The plotline has been done before and better in films such as “Sea of Love” and “Jagged Edge,” and comparisons to “Fatal Attraction” aren’t just because Michael Douglas stars in both. Just like that mid-80s morality tale, “Basic Instinct” delivers the heavy-handed message that sex is dangerous.

Additionally, the film tries so hard to keep the audience guessing on the identity of the killer and the true connection between characters that in the end it’s just plain confusing. The pricey script by Joe Eszterhas raises more questions than it’s ready to answer and packs the film with so many false clues that it becomes hard to figure out which clues are actually real and what exactly they’re supposed to reveal. The story often seems like mere padding between the film’s racy sex scenes.

It takes more than bold sensuality and stylish photography to make an effective thriller. It takes a cogent, intelligent story, original ideas and meaningful characters. In other words, it requires elements that “Basic Instinct” is sorely lacking.