I think we can all agree that what kept those ’70s Kurt Russell Walt Disney films from reaching states of true transcendence was their unwillingness to explore what an average teenage boy would really do if he became freakishly strong (The Strongest Man in the World), invisible (Now You See Him, Now You Don’t) or intelligent (The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes) — namely, use his newfound powers to see boobs and get laid. Zapped! served as an early ’80s attempt to both correct this error and launch the cinematic careers of future Charles in Charge co-stars Scott Baio and Willie Aames.
History has proven this was ill-advised.
Baio plays Barney, a teenage genius who inadvertently gains telekinetic powers when his experiments go awry. A better film might have used his odd situation to develop an actual plot, but the filmmakers behind Zapped! decided instead to just use it as an excuse to tell a series of increasingly unfunny sex, drug and bodily function jokes, causing much more sadness than laughter. It doesn’t help that the two stars have all of the charisma you’d expect from two future reality show has-beens.
Even worse is the film’s reluctance to embrace its own depravity. For a teen sex comedy, Zapped! is woefully short on sex and surprisingly light on gratuitous nudity. One only has to look at the end credits and read “A double was used for Miss [Heather] Thomas in her nude scene and in the photograph” to appreciate the depths of the project’s failure. —Allan Mott
As expected, the script is stupid, the acting is atrocious, but the action scenes are kick-ass — gratuitous, over-the-top violence where bad guys can get sliced in two with the flick of a knife. In other words, when’s the freakin’ sequel? Next time, Sly, you need to throw in Blade, The Glimmer Man, Snake Plissken, The Marine, Bloodfist, American Ninja, The Perfect Weapon and — oh, what the hell — Lionheart. Certainly they can’t be all that busy. —Rod Lott
What keeps us reeling is the way the film portrays the standard noir characters of the evil femme fatale and the hapless sucker who knows she’s using him, but still can’t break away. In 
The French film is spooky, thanks mostly to Christiane’s mask, a blank stare that no doubt influenced Michael Myers’ emotionless cover. Franju aims for a marathon, not a sprint, with deliberate pacing that gets you involved with the characters. In other words, this is an intelligent film that just happens to appeal to base senses, with evocative photography and a memorable score, which sounds like the theme from