Given the incredible popularity of Dean Koontz's books, it amazes me that no-one has managed to turn any of his bestsellers into a hit movie; more than a handful have tried, but Koontz adaptations are, by and large, pretty lousy. Whispers is no exception.
I've read quite a few of Koontz's books (albeit, not this particular one), and the man spins a great yarn, so I doubt very much if he is to blame for this film's mediocrity. No... I blame director Douglas Jackson, who is clearly more at home working for the small screen, his film lacking in style or genuine thrills, and the film's star, Victoria Tennant, who is undeniably attractive, but isn't a great actress: she's been pretty terrible in everything that I have seen her in (even All Of Me, a film I adore).
Tennant is her usual wooden self, starring as author Hilary, who is terrorised by a psychotic man called Bruno Clavel (Jean LeClerc), who believes that the writer is his mother reincarnated. Chris Sarandon plays caring cop Tony who investigates and discovers the shocking truth behind Bruno's insanity (I don't want to give too much away: the perverse plot twists are the film's only redeeming features).
Delivering tepid scares, a smattering of nudity (brief side boob from Tennant, but mostly from her body double), and very little blood, Whispers is another dreary Dean Koontz dud.
