Allen Shapiro's ludicrous thriller, something of a teenaged Fatal Attraction (1987), is a far less well-made projection of male anxiety. The story centers on a physically and intellectually precocious 14-year-old girl (Alicia Silverstone) who becomes obsessed with a writer (Cary Elwes) in his twenties who is renting the guest house of her wealthy family. When he makes the mistake of spurning her advances, hell hath no fury. Not bad enough to be campy, just lame and obvious, the film presents its heroine as a monstrous nymphet capable of making the life of the writer and his girlfriend a living hell. Couldn't he just move? Do 14-year-old girls usually try to destroy men they're infatuated with? Questions like this constantly pop into the viewer's mind, indicating that nothing approaching plausible human behavior is approximated in the film. Is this the filmmakers' way of working out their guilt over girls they've rejected? Sure looks like it. It's a measure of how bad the film is that Silverstone and Elwes, two gifted comic performers, both come off terribly.