They're Playing with Fire (Howard Avedis, 1984)

In the mediocrity-laced afterbirth that is now, the sight of an older woman seducing a much younger man has become so commonplace, that you can't seem to go anywhere, entertainment-wise, without running into some disproportionately aged pairing flouting societies meaningless rules and regulations. Whether it be poorly made porn or overly smug TV shows, this not-so newfangled combination has reached its saturation point. Particularly in the former, where the women are barely thirty, reek of cosmetic surgery, and the guys violently prodding at them with their veiny malformations look like musclebound sexual predators straight out of an inexplicably published gangbang how-to guide. Anyway, as the more discerning amongst us would expect, I was rather taken aback by the nonjudgmental nonchalance in which They're Playing with Fire goes about laying the groundwork for the mismatched venereal alliance at the centre of its tawdry mire. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the adolescent male had an extra boyish quality about him, or maybe it was because the more experienced female literally oozed sophistication. Either way, I found their pairing to be quite mischievous–you know, as supposed to off-putting and sad. In fact, their relationship was so mischievous, I couldn't help but notice that male's face barely reached the apex of the female's bumpy acreage whenever he was seen trying to vigorously plow through her bawdy wheat field.

Yet another sleazy film from writer-director Howard Avedis and writer-producer Marlene Schmidt (Miss Universe, 1961), the husband and wife team who brought us the definite article obsessed trilogy that consisted of The Teacher, The Stepmother and The Specialist, They're Playing with Fire sees them (with the help of famed cinematographer Gary Graver) continuing to explore the realm of pampered dissatisfaction; a world that is crawling with seemingly well-off citizens who always seem to want more out of life.

This desire invariably revolves around money and sex. And since it's the 1980s, a time when the pressure to succeed was at its zenith, having a respectable job is not enough to fulfill the pricey needs of the era.

Even though the film's poster misleads us into believing that we're about to watch a lighthearted sex comedy along the lines of My Tutor and Private Lessons, the sinister underbelly of this trashy undertaking unveils itself when a first-year student, Jay Richard (Eric Brown), at Oceanview College is coerced by his English professor, Dr. Diane Stevens PhD (Sybil Danning), and her psych professor husband, Dr. Michael Stevens (Andrew Prine), into burglarizing the palatial home of the latter professor's rich mother.

The intent is to scare his churlish mother (K.T. Stevens) and wheelchair bound grandmother (Margaret Wheeler) into moving to a nursing home. Of course, the plan goes terribly awry from the get-go, as mother Stevens gets wise to the break-in and chases after Jay with a high-powered rifle. Luckily for Jay she's not much of a markswoman.

Apparently, Mr. Stevens' mother does not approve of Mrs. Stevens; she's low-class and totally beneath them. The only way he can get hold of any inheritance is to prove to the lawyers that she's mentally unstable.

After Jay flees, another visitor shows up moments later and murders mommy and granny. Wondering how the plan went, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens and Jay go back to the house later that evening. The traces of blood on the wall cause the married professors to suspect that their student accomplice did something untoward to the two elderly women. Much finger pointing ensues, and the threesome begin to play an unsavoury game with one another.

Who killed the old ladies, and who had the most to gain?

Approaching the material with a workmanlike efficiency, Howard Avedis brings his trademark no frills technique to the sordid project. It's true, he doesn't bestow a high energy montage on us (he's a product of the mostly montage-free 1970s), but he does manage to arrange it so that Sybil Danning ends up in a state of undress near the end of every scene she is in. And from a pragmatic point-of-view, that's all that really matters. It is clear that Mr. Avedis saw early on that Sybil was the film's greatest asset, and, like any rational person would, attempts to utilize her natural gifts at every turn.

While Sybil Danning nakedness is always a plus, the structurally sound actress managed to enliven the genitals of the great unwashed no matter what she had or didn't have on. One of the most visually pleasing women to walk the lumpy surface of Rigel 7, the seductive Austrian exudes an animalistic allure as the sultry English professor with killer thighs. The sight of her merely walking from place to place was intoxicating. Whether running long distances in heels or lounging on the deck of her yacht, Miss Danning brings new meaning to the term: elegant practicality.

Which brings me to her co-star. Now I don't know exactly what his deal was, but the indifference Eric Brown displays as Sybil's character is straddling him was dumbfounding. He could have been suffering from a severe case of "I can't believe my unworthy freshman cock is sploshing around inside Sybil Danning-ittis," or maybe he was just a player with super mad lady skillz. After all, he is seen throughout the movie repeatedly rebuffing the advances of an attractive classmate/amateur private eye (the extremely expressive Beth Schaffell*). But still, I didn't really get that much of a man-about-town vibe from him. I guess it's just one of those inexplicable things that defy explanation. Much like the wonky twist this flick tries to pull off during its inevitable conclusion.

Most Howard Avedis films end at around the 95 minute mark, and this one is no different.

* Having lost the ability to evaluate the quality of a movie acting back in 2004 (I blame a dangerous combination of Napoleon Dynamite and Xanadu), I wasn't sure about the temperament of Beth Schaffell's performance as Cynthia, the gal who pesters and spies on our young hero. Call me meshugana, but something seemed a tad off about her. And while a part of me did enjoy the idiosyncratic nature of the many strange faces she sports in this film, the other half had a sneaking suspicion that she was not doing this on purpose. In other words, she was merely a terrible actress.

In all my years of looking at stuff, never have I been this conflicted by the work of an actress in a motion picture. Which is sort of compliment, especially when you consider the fact that the film features Sybil Danning getting undressed in every other scene. Oh, and as is the case with the majority of performances of this type, this was Beth's lone screen credit.

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