A recently married young couple arrive in a quaint English village and - through fate - he starts to become very successful as a local odd job man. Although his success has little to do with his skill at fixing-and-making-good!
The above sentence might make this sound like a legit film like The Godfather and The Shawshank Redemption, but can I quickly dismiss such thoughts. Indeed consider the thought shot-down-in-flames. This is a straight out, head-on, show-me-the-money, no prisoners taken, attempt to exploit money from a soft-core sex romp.
(What the comedians call a "cold weather film" - you want to turn your collar up as you leave the cinema!)
The sex film is unique that it doesn't need any plot device or central theme. Indeed we reviewers get embarrassed by such omissions and try and pretend to see one ourselves.
Here the lead is a male Emmanuelle - someone who falls victim to other people's agendas: Unlike so many of cheap guy-trying-to-cop-off British sex comedies he never takes the sexual lead.
However when the housewife strips off, lays across the bed, mimes a quarter to three with her legs our hero catches on that there may be more to the job than fixing the bed leg. Like the household dog who sees a wild rabbit - he returns to his primitive self. However in post coital bliss he turns to his former state as the slow affable moron.
To link together and scenes and fill time we have weak comedy in the form of a spank happy Lord of Manor and a snooping policeman - who has nothing better to do then watch the antics of our bumbling hero. The village, obviously, being crime free.
(Bob Todd and Chic Murray - Lord and Policeman respectively - were respected character/comedy actors in their day, although long gone to the great music hall in the sky.)
The director (John Sealey) hardly worked again and you can see why! Is there anything more depressing than third rate dialogue captured on a genuine 35 mm film camera? It is almost a crime against cinema itself. This should be on Super 8!
For a moment I dream, and in this dream I win the lottery and move in to this village of sex starved zanies - where behind every door is a frustrated wife or a horny daughter with the IQ of a fish and the dress sense of a desperate stripper. If only such a place existed and I could move in - or even take a two week a year holiday.
