One of the most beautiful movies ever made. In 32 music-video-style vignettes, involving one to five fellows, 46 French rugby players "and their guests" are filmed modeling for a calendar all over a stadium in elegant black-and-white (reminiscent of Avedon or Fellini), with a score stretching from brutal to Bizet. Photographed nude and nearly, flaunting flawless smiles, sparkling or sultry eyes, peerless pecs, abs, butts, and thatches, but with cocks (except for very rare quick glimpses of soft-ons) concealed by towels, soapsuds, footballs, bandages, thighs, or coy hands, they are supremely handsome, magnificently developed, inhumanly well-coifed and made-up (mostly by a woman), sensuously oiled (sometimes by each other), and in a few cases flamboyantly tattooed. To watch them prepare, pose, and relax is alternately a trip to heaven, then a mere visit to a locker room. They pose like Greek gods, Indian sex-deities, American wet-dreams, teasing tarts, cruising couples, or post-coital party boys, and then when released scamper modestly about cupping their crotches and giggling like clowns at their own and each other's nakedness. Navigating to specific scenes or bios is tricky.

Retailing: Softcore. Forty-six magnificent French rugby-players of every type of beauty pose sexily, singly and in groups. Only rare, accidental cock, no sex.