One of Liselle Bailey's most accomplished features for Dorcel, this story is told in a particularly unusual fashion: 3 different time frames and strictly via voice-over.
All the dialog has been suppressed, a frequent Dorcel technique, though the action was shot in England with Bailey's usual mixed cast. Unless my eyes deceived me (the credits are rarely helpful in identifying characters), Bailey stepped in to play the leading lady Clea Gaultier many years after, when she had matured and returned to her childhood home, to tell her life story to a complete stranger (and the audience), the current resident of the place.
Clea, played by the gorgeous Clea Gaultier (who Liselle facially -especially her nose- resembles a bit) was born in 1997, a period shown in flashback, where her birth mother has a one-night stand with a barman, resulting in pregnancy. Aysha plays mom Mariska in this flashback, humping barman Axel Aces, and Mariska plays the role as a mature adult in 2017. Bailey as older Clea is visiting circa 2037, after everyone has moved away.
The drama results from Clea not knowing that Mariska was her real mom, having grown up with parents Pete (Pascal White) and Ania (Ania Kinski). These two characters are portrayed briefly in the 1997 section by unidentified actors.
The main 2017 section of the picture is loaded with soap opera situations, though the post-production decision to replace all dialog by voice-over from the mature heroine Clea (in your choice of French or English track) distances the histrionics somewhat.
Clea flees; Mariska returns and stays briefly with Pete and Ania, and Clea's sister Misha (Misha Cross) hooks up with some guys as well. Infidelity is rampant, and as the narrator stresses, everyone keeps a few secrets to the end.
I enjoyed the performances, both as pantomime actors and talented sex players, of this cast, and was quite intrigued by the structure of presentation. It's a bit confusing thanks to the use of multiple players in each role and multiple time frames, but a rewarding experience, especially in today's Adult genre where the viewer is usually treated as a simpleton.
All the dialog has been suppressed, a frequent Dorcel technique, though the action was shot in England with Bailey's usual mixed cast. Unless my eyes deceived me (the credits are rarely helpful in identifying characters), Bailey stepped in to play the leading lady Clea Gaultier many years after, when she had matured and returned to her childhood home, to tell her life story to a complete stranger (and the audience), the current resident of the place.
Clea, played by the gorgeous Clea Gaultier (who Liselle facially -especially her nose- resembles a bit) was born in 1997, a period shown in flashback, where her birth mother has a one-night stand with a barman, resulting in pregnancy. Aysha plays mom Mariska in this flashback, humping barman Axel Aces, and Mariska plays the role as a mature adult in 2017. Bailey as older Clea is visiting circa 2037, after everyone has moved away.
The drama results from Clea not knowing that Mariska was her real mom, having grown up with parents Pete (Pascal White) and Ania (Ania Kinski). These two characters are portrayed briefly in the 1997 section by unidentified actors.
The main 2017 section of the picture is loaded with soap opera situations, though the post-production decision to replace all dialog by voice-over from the mature heroine Clea (in your choice of French or English track) distances the histrionics somewhat.
Clea flees; Mariska returns and stays briefly with Pete and Ania, and Clea's sister Misha (Misha Cross) hooks up with some guys as well. Infidelity is rampant, and as the narrator stresses, everyone keeps a few secrets to the end.
I enjoyed the performances, both as pantomime actors and talented sex players, of this cast, and was quite intrigued by the structure of presentation. It's a bit confusing thanks to the use of multiple players in each role and multiple time frames, but a rewarding experience, especially in today's Adult genre where the viewer is usually treated as a simpleton.