Highly stylized and non-linear, Classmates wouldn’t work nearly as well without its prime piece of boy-meat, David Ashfield. Ashfield plays an aspiring artist who has more than a little trouble concentrating on his studies, and no wonder with the ever-ready dong forcibly stuffed into his button-fly jeans. As in other flicks, Ashfield makes a show of pulsing his prick, effectively teasing whichever lucky schmo is next on the receiving line. And here are plenty of schmos for Ashfield to toy with, all handsome and smooth, easily sliding into the roles of young men on campus. This film works best as a vehicle for Ashfield, and thankfully he’s featured prominently throughout. When Ashfield’s having sex, it’s obvious that it’s wicked fun, a feeling that translates immediately to the viewer. Made in the ’80s, production values here are good, though some of Toby Ross’s artier camera tricks tend to interrupt the viewer’s enjoyment of the film.

Director Toby Ross gives gangly David Ashfield the star treatment here, casting him against type as a daydreaming college art student who can hardly keep his eyes on the nude models in class – Ashfield is too busy fantasizing about his nerdy-but-sexy prof, or mooning over a classmate.  Meanwhile, they’re busy daydreaming about him – and therein lies the charm of Classmates, which captures that unsettling but addictive fantasy realm that often exists between people who never quite make it, but can’t help thinking about it.

Despite some slow timing and an only mildly attractive cast, Classmates scores for the gentleness of Ross’ vision. Autumnal footage of NY’s City College, a silly sense of humor, and a very good music track are added bonuses.