Let’s call a sleaze ball a sleaze ball: Homework is less a movie and more a series of bad decisions edited together under the illusion of plot. Released in 1982 — right around the time when “teen sex comedy” became a cinematic goldmine — this one somehow manages to dig all the way to the septic tank below.
Starring a young Jon-Erik Hexum (who would go on to become famous for something far more tragic than this movie) and Joan Collins in what can only be described as the paycheck performance of a lifetime, Homework aims for Porky’sbut lands squarely in Creepy Uncle’s Basement territory.
The Plot (Or So They Claim)
Here’s the “story”: Tommy (Jon-Erik Hexum) is a high school student trying to lose his virginity. That’s it. That’s the entire plot. No college applications, no family crises, no life-or-death stakes. Just a dude trying to get laid before he graduates. This isn’t The Graduate — this is The Underachiever.
Tommy gets passed around like a cold at a daycare, bouncing between cheerleaders, bored housewives, and — wait for it — his mother’s friend, played by the eternally fabulous Joan Collins, who at this point in her career was essentially being paid to smirk seductively while wearing fur.
Jon-Erik Hexum: The Lost Prince of Wasted Potential
It’s hard to pick on Jon-Erik Hexum because the guy had charisma. Real charisma. And dimples that could distract a nun. But even his natural screen presence can’t salvage the script, which plays like it was written by a 14-year-old who just found his dad’s Penthouse stash and decided to write a movie instead of studying for algebra.
He delivers his lines with all the sincerity of a man reading his own ransom note. He tries. You can see him trying. But the film surrounds him with so much tonal confusion and softcore sleaze that he ends up looking like the only sober guy at a frat party gone sideways.
Joan Collins: Collecting Checks and Dignity (Just Barely)
Ah yes, Joan Collins. The campy, glamorous icon of Dynasty fame shows up here like a velvet hammer in a paper mache film. She plays the sultry older woman who seduces Tommy, and the whole dynamic is about as sexy as a PTA meeting in hell.
She has maybe ten minutes of screen time, most of which is spent trying not to visibly recoil at the script. You can almost hear her internal monologue: “Just get through the scene, Joan. Think of the villa in Monaco.”
Her scenes are supposed to be erotic, but come across more like accidental elder abuse.
Sex Comedy Without the Comedy
Here’s the real problem: Homework isn’t funny. Not even bad funny. It doesn’t have the raunchy wit of Fast Times at Ridgemont High or the goofy charm of Revenge of the Nerds. It just has… scenes. A lot of them. Featuring terrible music, awkward nudity, and about as much narrative drive as a broken-down Pinto.
The jokes are tired. The innuendos land like lead balloons. There’s a recurring gag involving a sleazy teacher that feels like it was written by someone who got kicked out of community college for being too boring.
The Tone: Unwashed Sheets and Moral Confusion
One minute it’s a light-hearted teen romp. The next, it’s an uncomfortable May-December relationship with some serious boundary issues. There’s no cohesive style. Just a low-grade hormonal haze. It’s like the movie itself is going through puberty — and not handling it well.
You don’t watch Homework so much as endure it. It’s the kind of movie that makes you check your surroundings — not for snacks, but to make sure no one sees you watching it.
The Soundtrack: Generic Synth, Meet Awkward Grinding
The score is a mishmash of royalty-free sounding synth-pop, acoustic guitar strums, and slow jams that sound like they were composed by a guy in his garage after three cans of Schlitz.
And every time someone undresses, the music swells like it thinks it’s in a James Bond film. But trust me — nobody’s getting shaken or stirred here.
A Time Capsule… With a Mold Problem
Look, every decade has its embarrassing cinematic relics. The ’80s just had more — and Homework is one of them. It’s a film that looks back at you and says, “Hey, the Reagan years were horny and weird, get over it.”
It doesn’t have enough style to be kitsch, enough charm to be cult, or enough energy to be trashy fun. It just… exists. Like the forgotten condom in the back pocket of someone’s old acid-washed jeans.
Final Thoughts: Extra Credit? Denied.
Homework isn’t sexy. It isn’t funny. It isn’t clever. It’s like one of those knock-off VHS tapes you’d find in the dusty adult section of a video store — the kind with a misleading cover and a title font stolen from Better Off Dead. You rent it out of curiosity and return it with a need to shower.
Even for bad movie aficionados, this is a tough sit. It’s not so bad it’s good. It’s just so bad it’s vaguely regrettable. Like that one summer fling you don’t talk about — or the first time you tried body spray and thought you were God’s gift.
Final Grade: 2 out of 10 Misguided Boners
