Yet another clunker from Paul Chaplin and his defunct (except for website recycling) Bluebird Films label, with even the central premise mishandled.
It's five lengthy segments loosely tied to the late night TV use of pretty models who advertise phone sex and the like. Actual scenes have almost nothing to do with that dumb gimmick
Instead of an all-star femme cast, as Bluebird usually emphasizes, only Paige Ashley and Caprice Jane qualify here, with the rest of the ladies relatively random. Label's owner Chaplin naturally spotlights himself in two scenes, identifying himself as Mr. Bluebird at one point, and is unwatchable.
It's five lengthy segments loosely tied to the late night TV use of pretty models who advertise phone sex and the like. Actual scenes have almost nothing to do with that dumb gimmick
Instead of an all-star femme cast, as Bluebird usually emphasizes, only Paige Ashley and Caprice Jane qualify here, with the rest of the ladies relatively random. Label's owner Chaplin naturally spotlights himself in two scenes, identifying himself as Mr. Bluebird at one point, and is unwatchable.