Poison Ivy (1992)

Poison Ivy is the kind of sleek, wicked little thriller that knows exactly how to get under your skin: it turns the innocent rituals of teenage friendship into something seductive, volatile, and quietly terrifying. Katt Shea directs with a confident B-movie swagger—stylish, risky, and surprisingly perceptive about how badly people want to be seen, loved, and chosen—while Drew Barrymore gives Ivy a dangerous charisma that makes every scene feel like it might tip into trouble. The vibe is sunlit suburbia with a bruise underneath, where wealth and respectability become the perfect cover for obsession and appetite. It’s not for everyone—there’s strong sensuality and some harsh moments—but if you’re in the mood for a dark, glossy morality tale with real bite, this one still delivers.

Poison Ivy is aiming for a slick, trashy-cautionary erotic thriller about class envy and a charming outsider poisoning a rich family from the inside, and on that basic level it knows exactly what buttons it wants to push. The problem is it often feels more lurid than suspenseful, with contrived twists, a sluggish build, and a “serious” tone that can come off as pretentious when the characters don’t behave like believable people. Some of the casting and the way the adults are written makes the whole setup harder to buy, which undercuts the tension the movie is chasing. If you’re in the mood for a glossy early-’90s guilty pleasure with Drew Barrymore committing hard to the vibe, you might have fun; if you want a convincing psychological thriller or anything subtle about power and manipulation, this probably isn’t your time well spent.