Equal parts erotic thriller, slasher flick, and teen sex comedy—this Sybil Danning vehicle can’t decide what it wants to be, but it’s watchable for what it is
They’re Playing with Fire is one of those movies that looks like it was pitched as Porky’s meets Fatal Attraction meets Friday the 13th, and then nobody ever tightened the screws on the final product. Released in 1984 and marketed primarily around the undeniable assets of Sybil Danning, the film wears several genre hats: part campus sex romp, part murder mystery, and part slasher—all wrapped in a glossy VHS-era sheen.
It’s not a particularly good film, but it’s the kind of low-budget hybrid that still manages to entertain—either through sheer audacity, nostalgic appeal, or the magnetic presence of its lead. There’s enough camp and chaos to keep genre fans mildly interested, but not enough coherence to make it memorable.
The Plot: Professors, Predators, and Premeditated Murder
Eric Brown—best known from Private Lessons—plays Jay, a college student who finds himself in a very “lucky” position when his seductive literature professor, Diane Stevens (Sybil Danning), starts showing him some extra-curricular interest. At first, it’s a case of Mrs. Robinson meets Playboy Fantasy™, but things spiral when Diane and her husband (played by the perpetually menacing Andrew Prine) try to rope Jay into helping them with a shady plan to gain access to a family inheritance tied to Diane’s wealthy mother-in-law.
When said mother-in-law and her sister turn up dead in gruesome fashion, the story shifts into a murder mystery—and eventually into a full-on slasher film, complete with POV shots, sudden stabbings, and a masked killer roaming around.
The tonal whiplash is real. What begins as a steamy May-December seduction tale morphs into a whodunit, then pivots into grindhouse territory, and finally tries to end as a morality play. It’s all very confused—but oddly compelling in a train-wreck sort of way.
Sybil Danning: Queen of the VHS Era
This is very much a Sybil Danning showcase, and she delivers exactly what her fans came for: sex appeal, icy confidence, and just enough camp to keep it fun. She plays Diane with a detached, seductive coolness, drifting through the movie in silk robes and delivering lines with a husky purr.
But unlike her more overtly badass roles in Chained Heat or Howling II, here she’s playing the femme fatale in a suburban setting—and while she looks fantastic and gives the film its only real presence, she’s constrained by a script that doesn’t seem to know what kind of character it wants her to be.
Danning does what she can, but the film leans more on her body than her talent. She’s the poster bait—and that’s how she’s treated.
Eric Brown: Boy Toy with a Conscience
As Jay, Eric Brown is serviceable. He looks perpetually confused, which is appropriate given the labyrinth of genre shifts the film throws at him. He’s supposed to be the sympathetic everyman, but he’s written with the same surface-level naivete that most early-’80s sex-comedy protagonists had: dumb enough to be manipulated, but nice enough to still root for.
The chemistry between him and Danning is… functional. The film treats their affair more as titillation than character development, and Brown isn’t given the tools to make the relationship feel believable. His later transformation into reluctant sleuth/victim feels abrupt and unearned.
Andrew Prine: Slithering and Scheming
The late Andrew Prine is always reliable when it comes to playing sleazebags, and he doesn’t disappoint here. As Diane’s conniving husband, he brings a seedy intelligence to the role. You’re never sure if he’s manipulating his wife, the student, or everyone all at once—and that ambiguity gives the film a little bit of bite.
But like much of the movie, his performance is undermined by the script’s indecision. The plot flirts with some psychological tension between the characters but never commits to exploring it.
Tone & Direction: Pick a Lane, Any Lane
Director Howard Avedis (who also co-wrote the film) deserves some credit for trying to blend multiple genres, but the result feels like a patchwork rather than a fusion. You get comedy beats that feel ripped from a raunchy college flick. Then the mood shifts into erotic thriller territory. Then we’re suddenly in a slasher sequence with a cloaked figure and violent kills. It’s jarring—and not in a stylish way.
The suspense scenes are handled with a touch of flair, but the editing is choppy, and the pacing drags in the middle. A tighter script—or a clearer sense of tone—might have elevated this from curious oddity to low-budget gem.
Sex, Violence, and VHS Shelf Appeal
Make no mistake: They’re Playing with Fire was designed for the rental shelf. The poster, the tagline, the casting—it was all meant to get teenage boys to pick it up on a Friday night. And in that regard, it probably succeeded.
There’s enough nudity (particularly from Danning) and late-night sleaze to satisfy the exploitation crowd. The kills, while infrequent, are gory enough to qualify for the slasher crowd. But there’s not enough of either to satisfy genre fans fully. It’s too tame for true grindhouse, and too messy for mainstream thriller.
Final Verdict
They’re Playing with Fire is a confused, sleazy, and occasionally entertaining slice of ’80s exploitation that never quite lives up to the potential of its premise—or its lead actress. Sybil Danning smolders, and Andrew Prine slithers, but the film’s indecisive tone and sloppy script keep it firmly in the middle of the pack.
It’s the kind of film you’d half-watch on late-night cable, wondering what the hell it is… but not quite turning it off.
Rating: 5.5 out of 10 erotic lectures
A hot mess—literally and figuratively.
