Certainly, run-of-the-mill, low-rent horror movies can be loads of fun. Even the silly, predictable ones, like last year’s The Glass House. But Swimfan, the dopey teen lust stalker thriller, is inept even by the standards of the numbest of skulls.

Jesse Bradford is a nubile young swimmer who has an irritatingly perfect girlfriend, good buddies and a promising athletic future. He bumps into blonde tart Erika Christensen (who appears to have graduated from the Comatose School of Acting) and the two end up shagging. He thinks it’s over, but she begins to stalk him, sending him e-mails, pages, phone calls and so on. I don’t have to repeat any more of the plot here. Swimfan’s screenwriters have carefully made the film so utterly predictable, it saves you the time of actually having to see it. Isn’t that thoughtful of them?

Forget the plot, which makes The Hand That Rocks the Cradle and Fatal Attraction look downright Oscar-worthy in comparison, what kills me is the missed opportunities here. Think about it: young, nubile teens. Pools of water. Where’s the pseudo-soft porn? Where are the longing shots of Bradford’s pecs, back and butt? And het males and lesbians will be disappointed too: there is barely even any tit action here. What a ripoff! You people call yourselves filmmakers? :

» Matthew Hays