LOS ANGELES - You can't keep a bad woman down. With a worldwide box office gross of $350 million and a career-transforming role for Sharon Stone as the seductive and possibly deadly novelist Catherine Tramell, work on a sequel to 1992's "Basic Instinct" has been under way for years.

What finally comes together in "Basic Instinct 2" is a case of more of the same -- but not the same thing. The original film, a giddy pulp-fiction stew of sex, seduction and murder, afforded director Paul Verhoeven a shock corridor in which he coupled the unbridled eroticism of his earlier Dutch films with images of brutal violence and death. Love it or hate it, the film, written by Joe Eszterhas, was a tour de force of provocation in which a femme fatale and a corrupt cop throw decorum to the wind to romp in a sun-drenched California, featuring camera angles worthy of Hitchcock and a nerve-teasing score by Jerry Goldsmith.

By contrast, "Instinct 2" takes place in cool, sleek and dark postmodern London with cavernous interiors, often monochromatic surfaces and shadows everywhere. The director this time is British, Michael Caton-Jones, and he makes the sex scenes off-putting and dirty -- but not dirty in the right way. You sense his distaste just as you sensed Verhoeven's enthusiastic voyeurism. Complicating matters, the sequel, written by Leora Barish and Henry Bean, gets trapped by the need to repeat themes and scenes from the original rather than boldly explore a new terrain.

Stone is back as the bad-girl novelist. But Michael Douglas' San Francisco cop is gone, replaced by David Morrissey's cold-fish shrink, Dr. Michael Glass. No offense to Morrissey, but that's a let-down that unsettles the balance between a man and woman titter-tottering on the very brink of the law. The minute you see Glass, you know he's no match for Tramell: This Glass is bound to shatter.

The title and Stone's name ensure a good two weeks at the box office, and perhaps some moviegoers might even like a tamer sex thriller where much is predictable though certainly not logical. Dialogue often is hilarious -- "Even the truth is a lie with her!" shrieks David Thewlis' police detective about Tramell -- the sexual roundelays put soap operas to shame, and the solution to all the murders is offered up without a shred of credibility. If any of this takes, then a decent worldwide gross is possible for "Instinct 2."

The movie's original subtitle, since dropped, was "Risk Addiction," which expresses the new film's take on Catherine. She is a risk addict, thriving on danger and needing to take greater and greater risks to quicken her pulse. When Catherine -- relocated to London for unexplained reasons -- drives her sports car into the Thames late one night, she is implicated in the death of a football star. Detective Superintendent Roy Washburn (Thewlis) brings in noted criminal psychiatrist Glass to perform an evaluation of her.

His analysis must have impressed Catherine because when she is released by the court, she wants to engage him as her shrink. In the film's first howling implausibility, he actually takes her on as a patient despite the objections of his colleague Dr. Milena Gardosh (the always wonderful Charlotte Rampling).

Naturally, their sessions see tables turn: She provokes and draws information out of him without revealing much of herself. And, naturally, he is thoroughly smitten. You know this because his colorless, grim visage grows even more colorless and grim.

While Washburn continues his quest to nail Catherine for the first death, she insinuates herself into the lives of seemingly everyone Glass knows -- his ex-wife (Indira Varma), a journalist ( Hugh Dancy) working a damaging story about Glass and even Gardosh. Not everyone survives. In the movie's wildest bit of nonsense, Catherine lets the good doctor tail her into Soho's seedier streets, where she pays a pimp in a brothel to have sex with her, fully aware that Glass is watching.

The architecture and interior designs are all trendy and slick yet still feel like film noir as Goldsmith's musical themes resurface within the contours of John Murphy's new score. But the dynamics are off between Stone and Morrissey. What could possibly intrigue Catherine about this anal creature? That pimp or even the detective would be a better bet if she's looking for the thrill of risks.

Morrissey gives a stiff, awkward performance, while Stone moves dangerously close to overplaying the femme fatale. There is little if any intrigue in the story or the characters. Even the murders don't even seem to matter much. The only real intrigue comes in the film's risky flirtation with high camp.

Cast:

Catherine Tramell: Sharon Stone

Dr. Michael Glass: David Morrissey

Dr. Milena Gardosh: Charlotte Rampling

Roy Washburn: David Thewlis

Adam Tower: Hugh Dancy

Denise Glass: Indira Varma

Director: Michael Caton-Jones; Screenwriters: Leora Barish, Henry Bean; Based on characters created by: Joe Eszterhas: Producer: Mario F. Kassar, Andrew G. Vajna, Joel B. Michaels; Executive producers: Moritz Borman, Matthias Deyle, Denise O'Dell, Mark Albela; Director of photography: Gyula Pados; Production designer: Norman Garwood; Music: John Murphy; Music theme: Jerry Goldsmith; Costumes: Beatrix Aruna Pasztor; Editors: John Scott, Istvan Kiraly.

Reuters/Hollywood Reporter