Directed by Lewis John Carlino | Starring Andrew McCarthy, Rob Lowe, Jacqueline Bisset, and a mountain of bad decisions
Let’s set the scene. It’s 1983. Reagan’s America is revving up, everyone’s pretending to like jazz, and Hollywood is hell-bent on producing teen sex comedies where the “comedy” is questionable and the “sex” comes with a side of midlife crisis. Enter Class—a movie that tries to be The Graduate meets Porky’s, but instead stumbles into The Guidance Counselor’s Office.
This isn’t just a bad movie—it’s a masterclass in tonal confusion, where a supposedly elite prep school plays host to emotional whiplash, mom-banging, and Rob Lowe being as sleazy as a tennis pro at a country club with no HR department.
The Plot: Oedipus in a Blazer
Jonathan (Andrew McCarthy) is a naive Midwestern boy sent to a prestigious East Coast prep school because he apparently scored well on the SAT and the filmmakers needed a fish-out-of-water trope. He meets Skip (Rob Lowe), a rich boy who wears scarves indoors and is exactly the kind of guy who high-fives himself in the mirror after sex. Naturally, they become best friends—because nothing bonds two hormonal boys like shared trauma and synchronized privilege.
Skip takes Jonathan under his wing, teaching him the essentials of boarding school life: how to bribe teachers, get alcohol, and lose your virginity in the most emotionally complicated way possible. Which brings us to the central premise—Jonathan has an affair with a beautiful older woman (Jacqueline Bisset), only to discover that (surprise!) she’s Skip’s mother.
What follows is ninety minutes of uncomfortable groping, bourbon-soaked awkwardness, and McCarthy doing his best impression of a deer caught in both headlights and a morality play.
Andrew McCarthy: The Sweater of Human Emotion
Andrew McCarthy’s Jonathan is the kind of guy who’d apologize to a urinal cake for aiming too aggressively. He mopes, he stammers, and he walks around with the permanently damp-eyed look of someone who just realized his first love might ground him and revoke his meal plan.
McCarthy’s performance is like watching a folding chair try to cry. He’s supposed to be conflicted, but mostly looks like he’s confused by the lighting setup.
Rob Lowe: The 80s Douchebag All-Star
As Skip, Rob Lowe is every rich kid you avoided in high school and later saw doing Instagram Lives about cryptocurrency. He struts around the dorm like he owns the building and its occupants, oozing privilege, pheromones, and expensive cologne with names like “Regret Pour Homme.”
His character exists to be cool, charismatic, and ultimately betrayed—but since he’s also a self-absorbed trust fund peacock, you kind of root for the betrayal.
Also, fun fact: at one point he catches Jonathan and his mother in the act (emotionally, not visually), and instead of therapy, he opts for yelling and storming off like someone just canceled his Lacoste sponsorship.
Jacqueline Bisset: Wasted Grace
Poor Jacqueline Bisset. A gorgeous, talented actress trapped in a role written by men who clearly fantasized about being seduced by a lonely cougar during boarding school but didn’t stop to ask, “Hey, should this character have, like, depth?”
She plays Ellen, Skip’s mother, with a kind of elegant detachment, like she’s aware she’s in a bad movie but is too classy to flee. The character is written as if someone said, “What if Mrs. Robinson, but sadder and with a better hair stylist?”
She’s lonely, vaguely alcoholic, and has all the emotional boundaries of a fog machine. Her romance with Jonathan isn’t sexy—it’s a prolonged psychological accident set to soft jazz.
Tone: Schizophrenic with a Side of Saxophone
Class doesn’t know what kind of movie it wants to be. One scene it’s a buddy comedy, the next it’s an erotic drama, and suddenly it’s a slow-motion descent into trauma and class warfare—all scored by the kind of saxophone music that sounds like it was composed during a midlife crisis.
It’s like the film is constantly switching channels between Dead Poets Society, Risky Business, and Dr. Phil.
Boarding School: Apparently Just a Hotel for Teenagers
This prep school, supposedly elite and formative, is portrayed as a lawless wasteland where students chain-smoke indoors, run underground poker games, and openly commit felonies while teachers blink in Morse code for help.
The school adds nothing except a reason to shove Jonathan and Skip into sweater vests and cram 80s privilege into every frame.
Themes: Freud Called. He’s Confused Too.
There’s an attempt—maybe—to explore issues of class, adolescence, and forbidden love. But mostly it’s just a teenage boy accidentally boning his best friend’s mom, followed by some long stares and angry walks down marble staircases.
It wants to be about manhood. It ends up being about how many layers of awkward you can wrap around a single dinner table scene.
Final Thoughts: Keep This One Left Behind
Class wants to be smart, edgy, and daring. Instead, it plays like an after-school special that got drunk, watched The Graduate, and decided to double down on Freudian awkwardness. It’s a film that fails to be sexy, fails to be funny, and most of all—fails to understand that sleeping with your best friend’s mom doesn’t make you cool. It makes you a therapy bill with legs.
If you’re looking for nostalgia, go watch Fast Times or Say Anything. If you want to see Rob Lowe brood and Jacqueline Bisset waste her talent, Class is in session.
Rating: 3/10 — A coming-of-age story that should’ve stayed in detention.
