This piece of meretricious garbage is the spawn of ten thousand other movies about the forbidden relationship between high school girls and attractive older men. Sometimes the girl is the victim. Here, it's the other way round; the succulent young blond is Megan Park, and the thirty-six year old trigonometry teacher and girls' volleyball coach, David Charvet, is the victim of her erotomania.
Park certainly is a dish. She has long, wavy tresses, and oversize pearly incisors. One imagines her canines are long and sharp, like a predatory tiger's. She throws herself all over Charvet, at school and elsewhere, insinuating her toothsome presence into his personal life, leaning over his desk so he is sure to inhale her musk, cuddling up to Charvet's little daughter, running over Charvet's ex wife.
Park has lovely long legs, their fearful symmetry enhanced by the tiny skirts and spike heels that all high school girls wear. She has a marked thigh gap too. I understand that's desirable. All that's needed is the barbed wire tattoo around her neck that would cause any normal man to throw himself at her feet and grovel. The monumentally stupid Charvet himself has a prominent tattoo, a dozen Chinese ideograms on his inner forearm, but they're not a patch on a barbed wire tattoo for erotic arousal.
Well, frankly, I found Megan's character revolting in the extreme, especially that business of murdering Charvet's ex wife. If it had been my ex wife I might have felt differently but there was simply no excuse for this deliberate act of mayhem. Megan might have exculpated herself by just removing her hampering outer garments somewhere along the line and giving the viewer a glimpse of those hidden treasures, but no.
I don't even like her name. The character's name is Devon, pronounced like the English shire. I don't like it. I don't like her real name either -- Megan. Megan, Reagan, Jillian, Jennifer. What happened to sturdy old post-and-lintel names like Linda and Barbara and Hepzibah and Hatshepsut? Never watch a movie with a character named Devon in it.
Here's the director at work. Charvet and Megan are shopping in a clothing store. Charvet's inamorata enters and needs to talk to Charvet alone, so Megan wanders off a few feet, pretends to be thumbing through a rack of dresses, and keeps an eye on them without wanting them to know she's doing so. Here's how she does it. She stands still and glares balefully at the pair. Is that how you would secretly spy on someone? It's not how I would do it. I'd pretend to be going through the items on the rack and glance up from time to time to see what's cooking. But Megan does everything to attract attention to herself except play "The Flight of the Bumblebee" on a kazoo.
Do high school girls really have volleyball coaches? I wonder how you can get a job like that if you have neither interest in or talent for any sports.
Park certainly is a dish. She has long, wavy tresses, and oversize pearly incisors. One imagines her canines are long and sharp, like a predatory tiger's. She throws herself all over Charvet, at school and elsewhere, insinuating her toothsome presence into his personal life, leaning over his desk so he is sure to inhale her musk, cuddling up to Charvet's little daughter, running over Charvet's ex wife.
Park has lovely long legs, their fearful symmetry enhanced by the tiny skirts and spike heels that all high school girls wear. She has a marked thigh gap too. I understand that's desirable. All that's needed is the barbed wire tattoo around her neck that would cause any normal man to throw himself at her feet and grovel. The monumentally stupid Charvet himself has a prominent tattoo, a dozen Chinese ideograms on his inner forearm, but they're not a patch on a barbed wire tattoo for erotic arousal.
Well, frankly, I found Megan's character revolting in the extreme, especially that business of murdering Charvet's ex wife. If it had been my ex wife I might have felt differently but there was simply no excuse for this deliberate act of mayhem. Megan might have exculpated herself by just removing her hampering outer garments somewhere along the line and giving the viewer a glimpse of those hidden treasures, but no.
I don't even like her name. The character's name is Devon, pronounced like the English shire. I don't like it. I don't like her real name either -- Megan. Megan, Reagan, Jillian, Jennifer. What happened to sturdy old post-and-lintel names like Linda and Barbara and Hepzibah and Hatshepsut? Never watch a movie with a character named Devon in it.
Here's the director at work. Charvet and Megan are shopping in a clothing store. Charvet's inamorata enters and needs to talk to Charvet alone, so Megan wanders off a few feet, pretends to be thumbing through a rack of dresses, and keeps an eye on them without wanting them to know she's doing so. Here's how she does it. She stands still and glares balefully at the pair. Is that how you would secretly spy on someone? It's not how I would do it. I'd pretend to be going through the items on the rack and glance up from time to time to see what's cooking. But Megan does everything to attract attention to herself except play "The Flight of the Bumblebee" on a kazoo.
Do high school girls really have volleyball coaches? I wonder how you can get a job like that if you have neither interest in or talent for any sports.