This very low budgeted production, with double and triple duty performed by crew members, filmed in and near Los Angeles, is the sort of independently made film for which one tends to wish for the best but, unfortunately in this instance, the piece fails to entertain due to its offering more embarrassment for those involved than wit for an audience. The design of the story is tailored with promise: Tim (Marc McClure) places an advertisement in a lonely hearts column that receives a response from video store clerk Nancy (Jennifer Edwards), both parties naturally expanding upon their limited merits. For in actuality, Tim is a lazy lout with little ambition, while Nancy is a professional student, having completed ten years of underclass work without graduating, and it can not be surprising that, well before the couple's expected conflict and reconciliation comes about, their relationship will have become stale to a viewer. Tim claims to own a high-tech company and to be fully competent in a wide range of outdoor sporting activity, Nancy pretends to be a university professor of history; however, a junket by the pair to a nearby resort compounds the hazards of their mutual dissemblance. Tim and Nancy attempt a hodgepodge of athletic endeavours formulated to curry favour with the other, including downhill skiing, tennis and camping, but neither of them displays aught but inane incompetence. Numerous shortcomings cause this feeble affair to fall flat, including unfocused direction, substandard acting by the principals and a silly screenplay, including some sequences grating to the ear, e.g., when Tim inquires of Nancy as to what may be the title of a piece of music being played she, an ostensible devotee of ballet and other "cultural events", answers that they are hearing Borodin's Polovtsian Dances from Prince Igor; true enough, but lover of music Nancy manages to risibly mispronounce Borodin, Polovtsian and, yes, even Igor. After a brief and unsuccessful theatre run, the film then went promptly to video distribution. McClure, whose portfolio rests primarily upon his being a cast member in various "Superman" movies, delivers an inside joke when he states that he once wrote "for the Daily Planet". This is uproarious upon comparison with the general level of humour essayed here, much of it in the physical comedy mode that requires a deft blend of muscular control with communication to an audience of incipient risk, each of which is probably beyond the capabilities of these particular performers. Consequences of this doleful duo's affectations are completely predictable, and despite their initial misalignment, intended to be overcome, ennui is the lot of an audience viewing foolish pratfalls and substandard playing by the leads.
