Main cast: Jean-Marc Barr (Lyle), Rosanna Arquette (Amy), Élodie Bouchez (Juliette), Ian Brennan (Bert), Ian Vogt (Vernon), and Stephnie Weir (Connie)
Directors: Pascal Arnold and Jean-Marc Barr

This unbelievably vapid movie comes right out of a bad pornographic movie. Not because pornography is bad – it has its uses, like everything else in film, I say – but bad because it is insulting and condescending, and it is equivalent to the French directors, also scriptwriters, giving Americans a finger up America’s bunghole. I’m not objecting on patriotic grounds, after all I’m not even American, but I hate getting caught up in one’s self-indulgent public masturbation that requires me to pay money to see.

This movie’s plot, if you can call it that, is about our virgin farmer Lyle who has never consummated his marriage with his wife Amy because he was told 20 years ago that he has “too much flesh” there. Obviously Jean-Marc Barr, who wrote the script, directed the movie, and played Lyle to boot, has some issues he should have discreetly mentioned to his shrink instead of sticking it up at my face like that. The first thing I see in this movie is a very naked Mr Barr raping some corn plants, I kid you not. He does have some magnetic animal attractiveness in that balding head and somewhat pudgy body, but I don’t need to see him naked or close to naked 90% of the time in this movie.

Moving on – he soon gets the screwing of his life by this French girl Juliette, who, as far as I know, has no personality, no character, nothing but one giant pair of mammaries and overheated nether lips. The rest of the movie is nothing but sex, sex, sex interspersed with corny dialogues and some really twisted idealism of small-town life these Frenchmen have of Americans. These folks in this movie make the Ozarks seem like the center of the new Renaissance.

All that sex, minus chemistry, minus convincing motives or character development or even personality in the first place, becomes tedious as hell. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m being conned of my money just so that Mr Barr can have his Y-fronted crotch caressed in mechanical, dead-eyed motions by an equally zombified Élodie Bouchez. Zombies having sex are never this scary.