`The Crush': Elements Of `Lolita' With A Lurid Spin

XX "The Crush," with Cary Elwes, Alicia Silverstone, Jennifer Rubin and Kurtwood Smith. Written and directed by Alan Shapiro. City Centre, Alderwood, Lewis & Clark, Aurora Village, Gateway, Valley 6, Factoria, Everett Mall. "R" - Restricted, due to mild profanity, subject matter. -------------------------------

For a somewhat compromised thriller that can more or less be summed up by its title, there's enough in "The Crush" to suggest that it might have been much more than simply a cheaply sensationalized variation on "Lolita."

The elements that made Vladimir Nabokov's novel and Stanley Kubrick's intriguing screen translation so compelling are given a lurid spin in this routine but not altogether uninteresting plot about a 14-year-old woman-child (Alicia Silverstone) who instantly develops a psychotic crush on the 28-year-old writer (Cary Elwes) who's just moved into the guest annex of her parents' elegant estate.

The sturdy, capable performance by Elwes won't be confused with James Mason's perfectly tortured portrayal of Humbert Humbert in "Lolita," but as certain scenes unfold with just the right levels of sexual tension, Elwes and first-time writer-director Alan Shapiro seem to be on to something deeper than either of them intended.

Unfortunately, those effective moments are surrounded by a push-button potboiler that consistently ignores its own greater implications. Wasting no time on story set-up (suggesting some indiscriminate trimming to an 85-minute running time), Shapiro allows only glimpses of character depth, relying instead on the kind of tepid pulse-racing that characterizes similarly weak thrillers like the recent "The Temp" or "Hear No Evil."

And so while the Silverstone does a very nice job of titillating Elwes and catering to his voyeuristic inclinations, we're only given a hint of her secluded loneliness, or the parental detachment that pushes her precocious intellect into the dangerous indulgence of her adolescent whims.

It's that indulgence that turns her blossoming sexuality into a terrorist's weapon, aimed at Elwes' girlfriend (Jennifer Rubin in a blandly underwritten role) and pathologically focused by the pain of unrequited love.

All of this is spelled out much too obviously through Shapiro's heavy-handed direction (the girl's got a "Wuthering Heights" poster on her bedroom wall. . . isn't she smart?), but "The Crush" isn't as moronic as one might expect, and as usual, cinematographer Bruce Surtees proves a major asset to the mood with his trademark use of finely controlled darkness.

Unfortunately, Shapiro borrows from too many movies (his climax vaguely recalls "Stranger on a Train") to let his story's potential shine through, and so "The Crush" remains an exercise in diminishing returns.