THE FOURTH MAN. An Underrated, Tension-Filled Thriller

Paul Verhoeven needs no introduction. Although he’s not often mentioned in the same breath as the greatest directors (whether rightly or wrongly is a discussion for another time), there’s no doubt that several of his films have earned a place in cinematic history. Who doesn’t know RoboCop, Basic Instinct, or Total Recall? Even his less critically acclaimed works, such as Starship Troopers and especially Showgirls, have achieved cult status over the years.

However, before Verhoeven introduced the world to Schwarzenegger on Mars, made Sharon Stone a sex symbol of the ’90s, or depicted Peter Weller guarding a dystopian Detroit, he was making films in Europe, specifically in his native Netherlands. Gaining recognition across the continent, he soon caught Hollywood’s attention. By the early 1980s, it seemed inevitable that he would cross the Atlantic, drawn by the lure of bigger budgets and the opportunity to take on new artistic challenges that could reach a wider audience. But before making that leap, he decided to shoot one last film in Europe. He chose to adapt the novel by one of the Netherlands’ most acclaimed and controversial authors, Gerard Reve, a declared homosexual and staunch anti-communist from Amsterdam. The screenplay was crafted by Verhoeven’s frequent collaborator, Gerard Soeteman.

The Fourth Man tells the story of a bisexual writer, Gerard (a character who serves as a literary alter ego for Reve and even shares his name), who travels to a small seaside town to give a talk and participate in a Q&A session. There, he meets Christine, who seduces him and invites him into her home. Gerard soon realizes that this will not be just a one-night stand. Step by step, he uncovers increasingly disturbing details about her life while weaving his own scheme.

Using genre conventions as a foundation, Verhoeven crafts a film that operates on his own unique terms. While nodding to the classic Hitchcockian formula, he infuses it with his trademark uninhibited nudity, blood, and perversion. Where Hitchcock hinted at themes and left much to the viewer’s imagination, Verhoeven displays everything explicitly, often graphically, ignoring conventional cinematic boundaries. It’s as if he pays homage to Hitchcock while cheekily poking fun at the master and the audience’s expectations. Verhoeven appears to use well-worn tropes, but he twists and reshapes them into his own distorted reflection. Far from being a mere imitator, he’s a sophisticated, self-aware postmodernist.

Yet, Verhoeven’s references don’t stop with Hitchcock. There are nods to The Third Man and even The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Above all, however, Verhoeven remains unmistakably himself.

From the outset, the protagonist is framed as someone whose perception is deeply flawed. In the very first scene, we see Gerard as a disheveled alcoholic prone to indulging in his own perverse fantasies and interpreting reality in peculiar ways. At the same time, he is also a devout Catholic, constantly seeking spiritual experiences, a paradox that lends a peculiar charm and is reflected throughout the film.

Through surreal visions that increasingly bleed into reality, Verhoeven masterfully creates a dreamlike, almost hallucinatory atmosphere, turning Gerard’s nightmares into an integral part of the narrative. These visions are rich in symbolism and foreshadowing, often blatantly hinting at future developments while leaving the viewer unaware of their full implications.

From the start, the film bombards the audience with heavy-handed symbolism, deliberately exaggerating metaphors and unapologetically throwing them onto the screen. It explores sexual desire, ambition at the expense of others, bisexuality, voyeurism, and a dash of perverse sexuality. Freudian theories, a fear of women, and a disdain for celibacy also surface. Verhoeven boldly incorporates Catholic symbols into Gerard’s visions, worldview, and the film’s narrative world, sometimes in obscene or blasphemous ways. References are made to the Virgin Mary and the Biblical tale of Samson and Delilah, the latter particularly resonating with the film’s recurring theme of male submission to women who exploit their weaknesses. The opening sequence, featuring a spider catching a fly and crawling across the face of a crucifix, serves as both a foreshadowing and a summary of the film’s core ideas. It is audacious and brimming with creative confidence. Rather than merely pushing boundaries, Verhoeven blatantly ignores them, aiming for a specific effect without making it feel like mere spectacle. He’s clearly in control and visibly enjoying himself. While not taking things too seriously, he doesn’t let the film spiral into chaos, allowing the audience to uncover layers of biting irony and sarcastic undertones scattered throughout. He leaves it ambiguous whether the film is just playful entertainment or a serious attempt at deeper storytelling. The answer, perhaps, is both.

Amid all this intertextual showmanship, Verhoeven never loses sight of the suspense. The atmosphere is dense and gripping from the start. Gerard’s visions are unsettling and discomforting, yet fascinating. Christine’s mysterious past and inscrutable motives drive the plot forward. The film’s oppressive atmosphere is greatly enhanced by Jan de Bont’s outstanding cinematography. Shadowy interiors, skillful use of light and shadow, intelligent framing, and precise pacing perfectly complement the story Verhoeven is telling. The cast is equally remarkable, particularly Jeroen Krabbé as Gerard, whose performance opened the door to Hollywood roles, including appearances in The Fugitive and The Living Daylights. Opposite him is Renée Soutendijk, whose androgynous beauty and portrayal of a striking femme fatale are captivating. She alternates between intrigue and seduction, exuding a carefully crafted, confident demeanor that conceals both fragility and ruthlessness.

All these elements come together to form an outstanding genre film that has lost none of its edge over the years. It remains a brilliantly constructed thriller, filled with dark humor, irony, and artistic provocation, made with a boldness that carries Verhoeven’s unmistakable signature. Not only is it a standout in the director’s filmography, but it’s also one of the best and most underrated films of the 1980s—a gem remembered by only a few today. If this article inspires even a handful of people to discover and appreciate it, then it has served its purpose.

Written by Mateusz Nawrocki