The Cutting Edge (1992)

Yes, it's Dirty Dancing on ice skates (and no, you can't quote me on that). A raw young hockey star (D.B. Sweeney), forced out of the game by a permanent eye injury, becomes the figure-skating partner of a pert, shapely, terminally stuck-up rich girl (Moira Kelly). Training for the Olympic trials, they snipe, pout, and glower, but only because, deep down, they're soooo hot for each other. The movie is shamelessly watchable romantic schlock for the Sassy set: It's as gooey and synthetic as the ''topping'' they squirt on your popcorn at multiplexes, and if you're over 15 you won't want to admit to your friends you actually sat through it. Director Paul M. Glaser soft-pedals the sports-victory hoopla in favor of wisecracking foreplay. In essence, The Cutting Edge is a great big double entendre (skating equals you-know-what). It helps that the stars are unusually sharp. Sweeney's scruffy ingenuousness is very appealing, and Kelly, saddled with the impossible role of princess of the rink, delivers her nose-in-the-air putdowns without making you hate her — all in all, a considerable achievement.

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