One-time name-above-the-title director John Summers tries to squeeze a bit more juice from the title that made him big (Two Hand-fuls), but the fist comes up empty. The set is a gym and the Summers fetishes are all in place — young blonds in white jockey shorts, rowing machines, and bottles of Evian water as a recurring motif (there's even Evian in the steam room ... no steam, but plenty of Evian!) — but bad videography, poor lighting, tepid sex and mostly mediocre models defeat any attempt at high style. Disappointing.