Once upon a time, there was a lithe, lovely French import who made American porno critics sit up and say, “Now there’s one to watch.” Alas, the N’J on the slicks from two years ago, trumpeted – and with good reason – as a delicacy of Gallic divinity, has vanished, to be replaced with a fuck-automaton packaged in glazed brown Naugahyde and ridiculous peroxide fringe (my girlfriend goes Cheese, her boobs look as hard as rocks). Sure, one can just make out the features of an unmistakably exquisite beauty behind the baked dermis, fake tits, shellaced cosmetics and punished hair; but the transformation is unforgivable. N’J, go back while there’s time.

That said, there’s no denying the small contingent who still view this plastic version of womanhood to be the most erotic will not recoil in horror; and, unfortunately, most people will never guess what they missed in N’J Mark I. The script is light and funny, giving Jonathan Morgan and Peter North hysterical rein as Tim Allen-esque suburban hubbies, and Kelli Kage and Shelbee Myne ample opportunity to provide soft, white, sweet relief to the artificial architecture of Gauls N’J and Guillermo, the new neighbors of the title. It bears mentioning that Mr. And Ms. Middle America will probably not be as amused by the antics as Valley of Sin insiders, but this is still healthy filler for any couples section.