Way overpraised Brad Armstrong gets to indulge himself (for nearly two decades now) at Wicked Pictures with relatively big budgets and seemingly a free hand, and his over-reach is most evident in this embarrassing self-vehicle about a washed up tennis star turned oversexed tennis pro. Even Warren Beatty in his prime (which lasted far longer than prematurely paunchy Brad's) would have trouble pulling off this "Shampoo" wannabe.
Best thing here is a return to boy/girl hardcore by all-time great Dyanna Lauren, who as a fan I've had to amuse myself in recent years watching in various Lesbian shows (plus some Nica Noelle Sweet Sinner assignments). She plays the meanie among the endless parade of mature ladies at a country club who demand servicing from new pro Brad, above and beyond his provision of nominal tennis lessons.
Repetitive nature of the feature makes all those self-serving Brad sex scenes all the more repulsive. Since he's directing for a broader audience than merely his immediate family, he throws other studs into the mix including Marco Banderas as a stereotyped Hispanic parking valet at the club, Rocco Reed as a young substitute and overacting Randy Spears as Dyanna's hissable husband.
Though styled as a rom-com romp, the feature is relentlessly dreary and downbeat in town, established by Brad's own morbid voice-over narration, on the level of "I coulda been a contender" lamenting his brief career near the top playing tennis. In perhaps the most obvious case of sustained Freudian Slippage of all his movies, the auteur's constant complaining about his has-been status is clearly not even subliminal but out & out expression of his disappointment at no longer being the photogenic porn stud he once was. Sure, he's not as gruesome to look at as say a grotesque old fart like latter-day Ron Jeremy, but his presence detracts mightily from the sexiness of XXX scenes opposite Dyanna or other lovelies including Diamond Foxxx.
