Scorned: acechada

Scorned is a better erotic movie then most. It actually has some what of a plot. Shannon Tweed plays a woman who seduces relatives who she blames for her husbands death. She is worth watching. There are not many sex scenes like there usually is but when there are they are sexy. The last one when the boy comes over to say goodbye to Shannon is the big one. It shows them kissing on the bed with the back ground all black. He pretty much is all ready undressed when it starts out. He then lays by her and removes her clothes. Then they have sex. She is on top of him most of the time. There is lots of movement, pleasured reactions, and sexual sounds. He then gets on top of her and she wraps her legs around his butt and her bare foot moves down his leg to touch his bare foot. So see Scorned and see what you think.

Wow!!!!! This movie has it all. Uberman, Andrew Stevens stars in and directs this stunning work of action and mise en scene dedicated to one of the biggest problems facing young Americans today. How many youngsters do we have to lose before people begin tightening regulations on after school tutors? I mean, c'mon people. We are losing students at an alarming rate. Finally this film shows the dangers of improperly hiring an unchecked tutor for your children. In this case, a young and nubile wife is forced to deal with the loss of her beloved husband, and decides to take it out on the man (and his family) who she blames for her beloved's death. She worms her way into a high profile tutoring position and proceeds to dismantle Andrew Steven's son strand by strand. Her sexual torture of the poor boy is especially troubling. I think the message here is apparant to all. Please, for God's sake, check references people!!!! I can't stress that enough. And God bless Shannon Tweed. Keep up the good work.

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.

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.