Ice cubes drop like cannonballs in Christine Jeffs' twee coming-of-age film Rain. They're weighty enough to sink a liquor glass to the bottom of the sea, an early sign that a steady flow of bourbon, martinis, and banana daiquiris may have consequences more severe than a mild hangover. Set in a '70s beachside cottage, where neglected children behave like adults and neglectful adults behave like children, Rain could be New Zealand's answer to The Ice Storm, another moral drama about a family that buckles under the decaying values of the previous decade. But while Jeffs, a former commercial director, has a wonderful feeling for the sights and sounds of summer—thanks in part to an evocative pop soundtrack and a score by Crowded House's Neil Finn—she treats her characters with a heavy hand, favoring judgment over observation. The story, based on Kirsty Gunn's novel, slowly and cruelly lures its prey with the temptations of sex and alcohol before finally bringing down the hammer. In the meantime, Jeffs gets a thoughtful performance out of her Christina Ricci: Alicia Fulford-Wierzbicki, playing a sour-faced, sexually precocious 13-year-old who's overly anxious to experiment with adult pleasures. Resentful of her mother (Sarah Peirse), an alcoholic who flirts shamelessly at beach parties in front of her ineffectual husband (Alistair Browning), Fulford-Wierzbicki shuffles her little brother (Aaron Murphy) around while their parents try to salvage their withering marriage. Fulford-Wierzbicki's anger and sexual curiosity collide drastically when she sets her sights on Marton Csokas, a handsome photographer who is having an ill-guarded affair with her mother. By the plot alone, it's possible to guess precisely where Rain is heading, yet Jeffs makes it even easier with clumsy symbolism (e.g. Mom's drinking glass sinking to the depths) and a lot of loaded glances. Though she possesses an impeccable eye for the sun-dappled beauty of the landscape and the body, Jeffs also has a weakness for her own poetic imagery, pausing at times for slow-motion interludes and a few occasional shots in black and white. As a result, Rain lays so much portent on every scene that it becomes ungenerous and morally forbidding, as if each bummed cigarette or leisurely cocktail will lead the family that much closer to oblivion. In this case, the punishment is far greater than the crime.