Both of Roberta Findlay's male noms de porn (Roberts Norman and Walters) turn up in the credits for this, the high watermark of her adult film-making career. For once, all the elements came together resulting in one of the most accomplished mystery thrillers the industry has ever spawned, with a number of strong, realistic sex scenes matching the labyrinthine plot's every twist and turn.
Opening with a steamy threesome of which none of the participants (Samantha Fox, David Morris and sleepyhead Robin Storrs a/k/a Robin Sane) are ever seen again, we enter the story proper with a phone call to hit man Ben (longtime director Carter Stevens in another sterling character part) detailing his assignment to wipe out wealthy heiress Jessica Grover (underrated Crystal Sync in a career-best performance) while her husband (hirsute Jeff Hurst, star of Chuck Vincent's goofy HEAVY LOAD) is out playing with his sultry secretary Anne (Marlene Willoughby, vamping it up like there's no tomorrow). At the last minute, Ben decides to throw in a bit of pre-murder rape, giving Jessica the opportunity to lethally defend herself with a pair of scissors from her sewing kit. Traumatized by the whole experience, Jess seeks solace on Fire Island, renting a cottage (Findlay shot at the same beach side property that was in A WOMAN'S TORMENT, MYSTIQUE and FROM HOLLY, WITH LOVE) from the deceptively sympathetic Pinky (a wonderful turn from Jennifer Jordan, who made such a deliciously campy Hollywood diva in Ron Sullivan's THE BUDDING OF BRIE). The latter is constantly followed around by her stud for hire (as she's not shy about letting everyone know) Matt (Robert Bolla, adding another knockout performance to an already distinguished roster) who's sensitive to our heroine's plight but may harbor an agenda of his own. Blood-covered scissors turn up in Jessica's bed as characters reveal their true nature, leading to a climax that most people probably won't guess and that (refreshingly in this day and age of mechanically convoluted conundrums with out of left field final twists) actually makes sense.
Apart from a carefully constructed screenplay (one of the very best I've ever encountered in adult), this movie boasts an excellent array of talented performers, all of them cast to perfection. Like so many of my contemporaries, I took this level of acting for granted during what's now commonly known as porn's Golden Age (mid-'70s tot mid-'80s), but current standards have truly made me re-appreciate the efforts of all involved. Every part is well played by someone who looks and acts plausible for it (i.e. no silicone-breasted virgins or real estate men with full body tattoos) and when they have sex, whoa mama, they do so in character ! We're not watching Crystal and Jeff going at it, but Jessica and her straying husband tenderly make up after a period of severe trauma. The acting doesn't stop once the sex starts. Findlay's female touch is apparent in the focus on the woman's pleasure in many of these scenes, also differing from the norm in structure, breaking the traditional oral/penetration/climax mold. As a result, the film's erotic content becomes inextricable from its drama, moving closer to the mainstream ideal ("real movies" with sex) held so dearly by the pioneering directors of '70s sex cinema.
A few trivial remarks to conclude. Music is particularly well used here, most of the sexual encounters playing out without it, relying on realistic sex talk instead, with bursts of Bernard Herrmann style tunes to enhance the suspenseful moments. I'm still in two minds about the title song, warbled by some warped soprano, yet it has tended to grow on me over the years, so let me leave you with this unforgettable line from its lyrics : "I see the devil in your eyes, every time you blink. Is it you I'm watching ? Are you the Tiffany Minx ?"
