It's too bad that they didn't work on the script to make this seem anywhere to be realistic, but the chilling opening sequence leads to some ridiculous follow-ups that turns what could have been a very intense thriller into something worth watching (once),then recommending, at least for the acting of Farrah Fawcett, into a film to physically toss away. Up until this point, she had not gotten good reviews in films, mainly a beautiful blond sex pot and not much else, and indeed, she really is giving her all to make this character realistic. But the script is very manipulative and very forced, and the moment the attempted rapist from the opening scene gets into the apartment that she shares with Alfre Woodard and Diana Scarwid (during the full light of day after they've gone to work and she's home alone),the script and comes as creepy and crazy as the character played by James Russo.

I truly wanted to give Farrah a chance because she never got the credit that she deserves, and she's not the fault with this movie. The fault is with the script and with the direction, and the way she is supposed to react to the intruder makes absolutely no sense. She interacts with him as if he's the plumber, having personal conversations with him while waiting for the attempted rape to begin. Then the table turns on him, and the convenience of certain household items being able to be used as weapons being close by is just far too convenient. Farrah really acts this out when the few moments of reality do allow her to become a real character, not just someone we've seen leave her job for the day, stop by a store and all of a sudden be attacked.

Yes, the attack is horrible, and how she gets away deserves applause, but there's something about how the main attack occurs that made me roll my eyes, especially coming so soon after the attack, especially when he demands that she make him something to eat. How foolish does the scriptwriter thinks the audience is? Did they think that only victims of attacks would watch this film? There are so many implausible elements about the film that even with great performances, it's torture to watch it, not just because of the violence. Russo is beyond vile, and the extremist way he's presented alas a psychopathic rapist (who apparently has a wife and child) shows a motivation in the writing, especially proven when Fawcett is rude to a delivery man without provocation while her roommates are nice to him. When films become too forceful about their agenda, they tend to fail, and there's nothing about this successful, even if it did prove that Farrah could be more than just a pretty face.

Marjorie (a splendid and riveting performance by Farrah Fawcett) narrowly avoids being assaulted in her car by vicious serial rapist Joe (superbly played with frightening conviction and intensity by James Russo). However, Joe steals her wallet and finds out where Marjorie lives. He pays her a visit one fateful day. After subjecting Marjorie to plenty of degradation and psychological abuse, Marjorie manages to turn the tables on Joe and locks him in the fireplace. What is Marjorie going to do with Joe? Director Robert M. Young and screenwriter William Mastrosimone concoct a harsh, gritty and often disturbing morality tale that astutely nails the stark brutality and painful debasement of rape while also showing how any person when pushed to extremes is capable of shocking acts of violence and inhumanity. Joe perceives women strictly as objects while Marjorie only sees Joe as an "animal." However, this movie to its admirable credit refuses to make Joe out to be simply a vile one-dimensional creep; instead he's a terrifyingly real and ultimately pitiable human monster with a wife and kid (Joe's climactic confession in particular is genuinely poignant). Fawcett and Russo are both outstanding in the leads; they receive fine support from Diana Scarwid as the passive Terry, Alfre Woodard as the sensible Patricia, and Sandy Martin as sympathetic policewoman Officer Sudow. Both Curtis Clark's agile cinematography and J.A.C. Redford's shivery, skin-crawling score greatly enhance the considerable claustrophobic tension. A real powerhouse.

Young woman is attacked twice by a handsome, cackling psychotic, the second time in her own home. Based on the hit play, the screen translation doesn't work. The material is too one-dimensional, and the heroine is a problem. Did the filmmakers think that if we were shown a strong (headstrong, physically and emotionally strong) woman, we wouldn't be interested in seeing her turn the tables on this scheming psycho? Why is it that Farrah Fawcett is made to gape in shock, lethargic when she should be active? Later, after crawling along the carpet as the camera closes in, she slaps at the man in a playground manner. Yes, she gets in some digs at his expense, but she can't even get her own roommates to believe her story (these 'friends' obviously have no idea who she is, where she came from, what she's been through--they are stock-idiots in the screenwriter's stable of clichés). The attacker is not some slimy worm--which would've worked--but a muscular mechanic-type with a New Yawk drawl and tight-across-the-rear blue jeans. The formulaic structuring and presentation here provide hostility and resentment instead of food for thought. It leaves us whipped and bowed, but conscious only of the fact we have seen Farrah being ordered to cook her attacker breakfast--and then having her naked breast foisted at us in close-up. Certainly not the intent when they launched the off-Broadway show? ** from ****