Dir: Rob Cohen (2015)
A flash in the pan at local cinemas, this throw back to 80’s thriller film making has zero charm, no humour and zilch in the way of surprises. The Boy Next Door (Ryan Guzman, an obviously 27-year-old piece of shiny marble trying and failing at playing an 17-year-old piece of marble) arrives just as the M.I.L.F next door, Claire (Jennifer Lopez), has tossed her cheating husband out of the house. While he’s still sniffing round the young, sweet and helpful Noah will infiltrate, her house, her life, the mind of her teenage son and, errrrm, more.
When Claire tries to dump the greek tragedy spouting lump of man flesh after a late night quickie, he turns “full stalker” and The Boy Next Door goes into the history books as one of the most pointless films of the 21st century. Filled to brim with toe curling dialogue including the now infamous “Dude, you gotta read the Illiad!” and some monster mistakes, Barbara Curry‘s toothless script does nothing for J-Lo’s Claire as any kind of ass kicker. Her spineless husband (John Corbett) is painted with one quick brush stroke and poor Ian Nelson does his best with a teenage boy written by someone who has seemingly never met one.
It would appear that director Rob Cohen and the entire cast forgot their sense of humour altogether during the 30 days it took to shoot The Boy Next Door; They must have just spent all their time sitting around on breaks silently reading Sophocles and moaning about yoga pains. There’s not a tongue or a cheek to be found in this entire mess, let alone one willing to make contact with the other (outside of Guzman and Lopez’s appallingly staged sex scene of course). By the time every clichéd check-point has been hit and we find ourselves at the weakest climax of recent memory you’ll be wondering what the hell went wrong in your own life. The Illiad is easier to get through.