Another occasion in which the editor should be shot (and not with a camera). LaRue once more goes out of his way to make something worthwhile out of a B-level feature -- and the editor, deaf, dumb or both, leaves the director's voice in the soundtrack. This problem seems to be epidemic in the gay industry these days; the only explanation is shabby craftsmanship.

LaRue gives this all-oral feature a better script than it deserves and coaxes the actors into spirited performances. But in addition to a stab in the back from the editor, he also receives a few hard knocks from the cameraman, who slips into fuzzy focus at the wrong times, and from the production department, which substitutes a sofa for a park bench. In spite of some good action, the overall effect is just a cut above the average.