Scorned: acechada

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)

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.

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.

Shannon Tweed does an excellent job of performing as a lonely housewife who blames Andrew Stevens for her husband's suicide. She then manipulates her way into the family and starts seducing them. First the son, then husband, and then the wife. This will go down as a classic soft core erotic thriller.

"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.