If there isn't much in this modest, sub-Hitchcock thriller worth criticizing it's only because there isn't much in it worth noticing at all. The premise is fascinating: that a drug might be used (or, in this case, abused) to block the chemical in our brains that inhibits muscular action during sleep, allowing us to unconsciously act out our dreams. But the script never aspires toward anything more than a routine psycho-thriller of curiously limited means: the film seems to have been made on two or three sparse studio sets with a very small cast, led by Kristy McNichol as the young test subject who naturally forgets to ask about an antidote. A throw away release doomed the film to a quick, easy death at the box office, which is a shame considering the far worse features being plugged that same summer, and the unsettling streak of sadism didn't help matters: most of McNichol's dreams find her a victim of rape and/or extreme violence.
Review of Dream Lover
