Heather Hunter is writing a Dear John letter to hubby Sean Michaels – from the john. In fact, the entire film takes place in the same john. It’s a beautiful john – stained glass window, marble floor, luxurious appointments – and a bad idea. The single set is static and limiting, making the sex scenes predictable. First they have sex on the countertop, then they have sex in the bath; back to the countertop; back to the bath, et cetera. Echoing sound, familiar to any shower singer, detracts, as does the total lack of music, curiously credited to Double Vision. (Must be for the Playboy version.) And why doesn’t anyone ever lock the door” Were they born in a barn? The dialogue, too, is execrable: “Wind her up like a top, I wanna see her spin”?!?
The plot is a convolution – Heather is having an affair with Steve Drake and is planning to dump Sean. He throws a party for their anniversary, during the course of which the various sexual encounters take place, and, predictably, after sampling sex in other combinations, Heather changes her mind. There is little romanticism in either the conception, or in the denouement – which also lessens the appeal of Dear John as a couples’ tape.
The beauty of the women saves this one. Alex scores in her girl/girler with Teri, and in her fierce countertop fuck with Steve Drake. Teri is the catalyst here, seducing the insecure Alex, stripping to bathe in the middle of the party, in the process taking on both Tom and Heather, and seducing Steve Drake. Heather looks fabulous especially in the closer with Sean. These two are the undisputed black superstars of porn, and their scene is terrific. Only individual scenes work, though, and it’s not enough for sustained sexual interest.