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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The Specialist (Howard Avedis, 1975)

Is this some kind of misguided attempt at artistic legitimacy, or the just dullest legal drama ever devised by barely sentient humans? It's hard to say exactly what director Howard Avedis (credited here as Hikmet Avedis and Russell Schmidt) and producer Marlene Schmidt (The Teacher and The Stepmother) were trying to convey with this tepid tale about a shady lady known as The Specialist. But I do know one thing, that they have somehow managed to make paranoid lawyers, blandly furnished courtrooms, overweight judges, and horny bailiffs seem more uninteresting than they already were. A film that is not quite sleazy enough to be redeemed by gratuitous nudity and wanton violence, yet not competent enough in the acting and storytelling department to be considered a normal movie, this amateurish enterprise will no doubt leave fans of debased cinema and so-called "prestige pictures" severely disappointed, as it repeatedly fails to satisfy the needs of each distinct group. The sordidly minded amongst you will notice that there is very little in terms of seediness going on in this film (yeah, there was nudity, but it wasn't shameless enough for my taste), while your typical sane viewer will surely be put off by the sluggish place, and, not to mention, the sheer number of scenes that seem to go nowhere.

The film's plot is basically about one lawyer trying to screw over another lawyer. Recently fired big shot lawyer, Pike Smith (John Anderson), hires a sexy juror (Ahna Capri), through his underworld connections, to seduce his rival, Jerry Bounds (Adam West), during a court case involving a former client. You see, the idea is to get him disbarred (apparently attorneys and jurors aren't supposed to fraternize outside the courtroom), but of course things get complicated and don't go exactly as planned (he gets caught canoodling with the coquettish con-woman). Well, they do go exactly as planned, except the lawyer being entrapped by the shapely fake juror isn't going down without a fight. Along with his attractive, and apparently very forgiving, wife Elizabeth (Marlene Schmidt), the dishonoured lawyer will do just about anything to clear his name.

Wow, that sounds like a pretty exciting movie; you know, for something that's crawling with lawyers. But trust me, it's not. I think the biggest flaw with The Specialist was the specialist. In that, I didn't think she was that special. I bet a lot people who see this film will use the same lame pun I just did, but there's no getting around the fact that Ahna Capri's Londa Wyeth was not worth the hype she receives during the film's early going. I mean, all this talk about how great she was when came to her seductive prowess did nothing but inflate the audiences expectations of her. And when she does finally decide to appear, I was letdown by the fact that she was just some blonde chick with big boobs.

Now, I realize that's all it takes in some circles to classified as "special." However, if I'm expected to believe that the counties best attorney is gonna throw his career away just because some large breasted woman with a well-stocked picnic basket and orange panties flirts with him by the drinking fountain, you got to at least make her personable. And I didn't get that from Ahna. Her seduction of Pike's artist son, Hardin (Harvey Jason - think Gene Wilder's gayer brother), was more plausible in that regard (he would have sex with anything with an active central nervous system). I just don't see a cagey lawyer falling for her hackneyed charm so easily.

Never one to let me down in terms of being fabulous, the gorgeous Marlene Schmidt is totally alluring as Elizabeth Bounds, the fiercely loyal wife of the set up lawyer. The fact that Marlene is a major hottie, even while wearing in a purple turban, was yet another reminder of how contrived this film's premise was. I understand that attractive people get cheated on as well. But come on, man, she's Marlene Schmidt, Miss Universe 1961! Anyway, even though she was playing the dreaded spurned wife character, I thought Marlene did an excellent job of looking tremendous in a serious of chic outfits (yeah, including the purple turban). Which, if you ask me, is a pretty hard thing to do in 1975 (a nightmare year for fashion).

Okay, let me see: dull film, not very seedy, titular character isn't special, gayer version of Gene Wilder, and Marlene Schmidt is sexy. Yeah, I think that pretty much covers everything. The section on Adam West's cool manner of speaking will have to be rescheduled for another day.

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The Teacher (Howard Avedis, 1974)

Supremely tawdry, yet slightly awful at the same time, The Teacher is an accidentally brilliant film that knows its limitations. And in doing so, manages to entertain and provoke with an incompetent grace. Taking place smack dab in the middle of the 1970s, the film, written and directed by Howard Avedis (They're Playing with Fire and The Stepmother), is a surprisingly erotic endeavour that elicits hollow pleasure through subtle means. The sexy burden may rest solely on the creamy shoulders of one Angel Tompkins, but when you're as naturally gorgeous as she is, all you really have to do is look in the general of any teenage scallywag, and you'll have them eating out your hand. There are many layers to this wannabe unseemly tale, but the main layer involves the deeply misunderstood Ralph Gordon (a terrific Anthony James, a.k.a. the inn keeper who forgot to arm himself in Unforgiven). A creepy loner in a bright yellow jacket (yeah, that's right, he's so confident in his lurking technique, that he wears the brightest jacket ever to exist), Ralph spends the majority of his free time leering at the shapely Mrs. Diana Marshall, a comely high school teacher, from his warehouse perch, where he keeps a well-stocked red coffin full of stalker-friendly goodies. Everything from Nietzsche books to chewing gum can be found in there. One day while spying on Diane sunbathe on her self-titled boat, Ralph is interrupted by his younger brother, Lou (Rudy Herrera Jr.), and his best friend, Sean (Jay North). A disagreement involving a pair of binoculars causes Lou to take a deadly tumble off Ralph's voyeuristic perch. Screaming bloody murder, the unstable Ralph vows revenge on the innocent Sean. Of course, Sean becoming romantically entangled with the older Diane, the object of Ralph's obsession, isn't going to help his cause in the not-getting murdered by a deranged psychopath department.

However, the chance to experiment sexually with someone who looks like Angel Tompkins doesn't come around often. In other words, despite the risks involved, I think Sean ultimately made the right decision.

I must say, though, it did take the bashful young scamp long enough to make this decision. The alluring Diane, the corrupting centerpiece of The Teacher ("every boy needs a teacher"), seemed to be constantly assailing Sean's crotch area for some much needed loving at every turn, while Sean kept brushing her off with the line, "I got to work on van."

Now, I understand van maintenance was one of the most popular past times for males aged 16 to 26 back in 1974. But to see a healthy 18 year-old repeatedly refuse the vaginal comfort that his 28 year-old teacher was willing to provide, not only frustrated me as a sane viewer, it angered me to my very core as a human being.

Luckily, the kid who used to play Dennis on Dennis the Menace (a television show about a menace named Dennis) eventually came to his senses, and Mrs. Marshall finally got the adolescent cock she so surely deserved.

Yeah, so what if a crackpot in the yellowest jacket known to man wants to straight up kill his scrawny ass, the mildly forbidden climaxes and the tender frolicking are totally worth it. And plus, you know you're lame when your mother is trying pimp you out.

Sean's pimp/mother, by the way, is played by the extremely yummy Marlene Schmidt (Miss Universe 1961). I loved her well-toned ex-East German legs in this film.

Early on, there's a scene where Angel Tompkins exchanges some heated dialogue with a friend of a friend at a pool side luncheon that was so amateurish and stiff, that I refuse to believe that it was the best take out of the lot. Seriously, it has to be one of the most unconvincing bits of acting I have ever witnessed.

Other than that, I thought Angel did a capable job of playing the experienced seductress role. Sure, the material-challenged outfits of the era also helped Angel mask her lack of thespian skills, but you can't deny she owned the scene where Sean admits he spied on her while tanning in the nude (the satisfied smirk she sports was delicious).

Anyway, in a constant state of disrobing, Miss Tompskins bravely saunters and cavorts throughout this sleazy morass with a sexy sense of self-possession. I give The Teacher a passing grade. No wait... Angel Tompkin's overt sexiness prevented The Teacher from earning a failing grade. Ugh. I give The Teacher a shiny red apple. Meh. An A+ in terms of sleaze, The Teacher is nothing like detention, it's recess from start to finish. Okay, I'm done.

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