Poussée à bout

I would think that it's a monumentally bad idea to hire a tutor that looks like Shannon Tweed for your high school boy. It's obvious what happens after that.

The movie isn't so high quality, but Shannon Tweed looks very good in this film. She's out for revenge on the man and his family thats lied to and made her husband commit suicide.

As mentioned earlier, the production of this movie is mediocre, but acting of Andrew Stevens is good, and so is Shannon Tweed's. Michael D Arenz puts in a good show as well.

It's a bit exploitative film, but is a guilty entertainment as well, and is worth a watch.

Scorned (1993) is one of those sleek, sultry erotic thrillers that feels tailor-made for late-night cable. It delivers exactly what you'd expect from the genre: a mix of soft-lit sex, glossy danger, and a vengeful woman who uses her body as both a weapon and a lure. The film coasts along the familiar curves of mid-90s direct-to-video erotica, but it's elevated by Shannon Tweed, who turns in a performance that walks a fine line between femme fatale theatrics and genuine emotional control.

Atmospherically, Scorned leans into its erotic thriller roots with smoky interiors, moody lighting, and a slightly over-the-top musical score that seems to cue every bedroom glance and calculated betrayal. The cinematography doesn't strive for subtlety, it revels in voyeurism, with the camera lingering on bare skin, silk sheets, and slow disrobing sequences. This is a film that knows what its audience wants and doesn't shy away from delivering it.

Tweed, ever the queen of this particular genre, carries the film with ease. She's not just eye candy here, she's a commanding presence. Her character, Patricia Langley, exudes a manipulative sensuality that holds the attention even when the plot takes some ludicrous turns. Whether seducing or scheming, she owns every scene she's in, and her numerous nude scenes are staged with an eye toward both titillation and character dominance. Her physicality is central to the film's atmosphere and is used purposefully to drive tension, seduction, and revenge.

Supporting performances are more serviceable than memorable. The male leads, particularly Andrew Stevens as the target of Patricia's obsession, play their roles with a sort of sleepy compliance. They're plot devices more than people, but that's not entirely a fault in a film like this. The direction from Andrew Stevens, who also co-stars, is competent if workmanlike. He keeps the pace taut, never letting things drag for long, and knows when to turn up the heat.

As a whole, Scorned doesn't break new ground, but it doesn't need to. It's a smooth, mildly trashy ride that leans hard into genre expectations: seduction, betrayal, and the slow unraveling of one man's life at the hands of a beautiful woman with an agenda. The film isn't trying to be high art. It's trying to be enticing, dangerous, and sexy. On that front, especially thanks to Tweed, it mostly succeeds.

It's quite a brilliant fetch to have Shannon Tweed play a villain, because seeing her use her looks for evil and not for good/neutral is actually pretty hot. Come to think about, she wouldn't have been a bad pick for "Basic Instinct" either. This could be the nudity talking, but she's able to look and act way more evil than Sharon Stone ever could. The plot for what it's worth: after a guy can't get promotion despite lending his wife to the right people, he like, totally kills himself. His wife, understandably, demands vengeance and wants to kill the total jerk who did get the promotion, Alex Weston. Only her idea of vengeance is having wild sex with everybody around him. That'll teach 'em. The audience is given what it wants: ye olde soft core classics (pool table anyone?), but also teenage boy's phantasies brought to life, a lesbian scene, and a fair share of shower scenes. The writing actually proves to be good, even if by accident. For instance, the maid interrupts what could have easily become another steamy sex scene, and you just want her to like, not be there. Then she gets killed. Again, they know what the audience wants. Could you believe it,a soft core movie with a plot that actually kinda makes sense. The ending was both fairly surprising and I should mention hot. If you're ever going to watch soft core accept no substitute.

If you were the father of a 17-year-old boy, would YOU hire a woman who looks like Shannon Tweed as his tutor? How can those supposedly smart people be so oblivious to the obvious? I know that nobody watches these soft-core erotic "thrillers" for the plot, but give us a break! The story here is BLATANTLY stupid, and would've been resolved in about ten minutes if only Andrew Stevens had just looked at a photograph that was in front of him throughout the movie. And how about that ending? It's so abrupt that it will leave you in a state of stunned disbelief (you'll be thinking: where did the last 10 minutes go?). As for the erotic scenes, they're only average, no better or worse than those in most Tweed flicks (although they do include a campy spanking of the teenage son!) (*1/2)

"Yes, I am afraid of you. Afraid of looking at you too long. Afraid of standing too close to you. Afraid that right now I could justify almost anything," says Alex Weston, the young yuppie patriarch of the film, making the pivotal point just before he sinks his 8 ball in Amanda's rear pocket. Although he doesn't understand it yet, his Gleem-clean, Tide-sparkling, perfectly dysfunctional American family is being methodically diced like a finger caught in a Cuisineart. The horror is in its ease. Trained by ruthless advertisers selling consumerism, the Westons are so part of the circus they don't even see the greasepaint. Amanda does them a favor, really. By bringing things to a quick boil, she diverts them from the slow burn.

Sure, this film's derivative of "Hand That Rocks The Cradle". And it's a bad copy. But that's just why it's so good. In mainstream films with solid, well-acted characterization, you spend your time in motivation and visually-drawn psychology. In "Scorned", the characters are mere sticks moved by the plot, and their symbolic import becomes quickly apparant. Tweed's such a drool, you can't take your eyes off her. And that's just the point. You chide the Weston's fixation for the proverbial carrot and call it, snobbishly, a shallow root, yet you're waiting to see what Amanda's gonna wear--or not wear--in the next scene. Figure it out, Doctor. Feels like Gotchaitis to me.