boundlaw

The title indicates this was either intended or marketed as a teensploitation film, but it would be more aptly titled Flaming Banality. This film aimed at being a preachy b-movie melodrama about the dangers of underage drinking and drugs, but instead hit the trifecta of bad acting, uninspired script, mind-numbing predictability while denuded of any of the cheese which makes teensploitation films so fun. Imagine one of those bad elementary school ephemeral films stretched out to feature-film length, complete with characters lacking the depth of cardboard, lacking in wit, and progressing at a geologic pace.

The film's two stories are connected only by an older man suffering from a terminal deficiency of charisma. In the first, Eddie stumbles home drunk after turning down a hot platinum blonde southern belle, the only attractive woman appearing in this film. To cure him, his father takes him out for a night of barhopping, where a bar fight over a drunken floozie between her jealous husband and the guy at the bar she was dancing with convinces Eddie to stop drinking. I'm still scratching my head over that one.

We are then launched to New York City for a supposedly true story about a guy who... well, I'll spare you the dull details, but after a failed suicide attempt-for some reason by drinking iodine--Garland gets hooked on drugs, is sent to jail, and becomes a preacher. The audience in his church looks as bored as the film's audience or is also strung out on heroin, but it hardly inspires confidence that his preaching days won't lead to more iodine.

If meant to convince teens to avoid these dangers, perhaps they could have made it interesting enough for kids to suffer through. For anyone to watch. For heaven's sake, sprinkle on some cheese! By the end, I was praying either for the platinum blonde to return or for someone to fill the Communion goblet with iodine.

Some of the actors were unable to prevent the producers from naming during the opening credits rap sheet, but at least they were spared the indignity of being identified by the roles they played.

Perhaps a widowed father raising his four daughters, and asking his eldest, teenage daughter for a date wasn't the best idea for a TV pilot. The daughters are cute, adorable and bland, the father clueless. He interprets his college freshman daughter's calm reaction to not being asked to the school dance as her being as ambivalent about the opposite sex as we are supposed to accept that he is.

Frankly, this was probably too syrupy-sweet even for its day, but it certainly did not stand the test of time. Formulaic writing doesn't help, and only the youngest, blonde daughter appears to have been given a personality as a junior financial wizard in pigtails.

About halfway through the film, the question "Why?" started popping into my head.

This is a teen comedy without comedy, a teen sex comedy without nudity, then suddenly, it takes a swing at being a teen horror slasher featuring a creepy stalker who is the least scary villain in moviemaking history.

It's a guidos versus college kids film sanitized down to earn a PG rating. Perhaps if you weren't old enough to get into R movies in 1982, this might have been a good half hour of entertainment squeezed into an hour and 14 minute film.

Without question, the highlight of this film is they let Plastic Bertrand's "Ca Plane Pour Moi" play in its entirety for the nightclub scene.