NOT SO PRIMAL

By RICHARD SCHICKEL

PRIMAL FEAR. OR, ALTERNATIVELY, Fatal Fear, Primal Attraction, Indecent Instinct, even--why not?--Basic Exposure. Who cares, finally? These interchangeable titles all promise the same thing: the black glamour of privileged people abandoning common, repressive sense for a mad moment, thus putting their nice clothes in serious danger of becoming mussed, if not downright bloodsplattered.

These films are about upsetting decorum, not scaring the wits out of you. But Primal Fear at least offers the reliable pleasure of watching Richard Gere succumb to the sin of pride. He's awfully good at playing sinuous, cynical men who are just a little too smart for their own good. In this case he's Martin Vail, a media-mad defense attorney in Chicago, who takes on--mostly for publicity--the case of a young man accused of murdering the city's beloved Catholic archbishop. Before he's through, Martin uncovers civic corruption, some hanky-panky with the alter boys, a double-twist ending and the idealism hidden deep in his heart. He also gets to banter winningly with the prosecuting attorney (Laura Linney), his once and (almost certainly) future lover.

The movie mixes grunge and glitter in the way of a Steven Bochco TV show, which is understandable, since director Gregory Hoblit has won a bunch of Emmys for his work on Hill Street Blues and L.A. Law. The script, by Steve Shagan and Ann Biderman, also partakes of Bochco's strengths and limitations--good dialogue, firmly etched secondary characters (nicely played by John Mahoney and Frances McDormand, among others) but not much suspense. The only potentially scary guy--Edward Norton's weirdo defendant--is safely behind bars most of the time. Diverting without being fully absorbing, this is a film best appreciated as an exercise in--shall we say it?--Primal Gere.

--By Richard Schickel