Shot-on-film productions, that rarest of commodities, have generally been less prone to become the repository for concepts of — how shall we say tactfully? — a truly stupid nature. Yet from concept to execution, Supermodel does everything in its power to break that unwritten code. But the bountiful sexual interludes and nice production values prevent the film from becoming a wash. But on its most utilitarian level, the excellently-packaged Supermodel loads on the babes and gives temporary relief from a plot disingenuous enough to make Silk Stalkings look like Citizen Kane.

Leena runs some sort of executive woo 'n' screw corporation which engages loathsome gigolos like Jonathan Morgan and Steven St. Croix to "save" supermodels from "mugger attacks"; establish relationships with them; siphon off their bank accounts; then dump them hard — and hope they commit suicide to cover their tracks. Pretty wishful thinking, even for clever crooks, but the necessity of the story demands model Isis Nile to conveniently swallow a handful of downers, so she does (after a very lusty bang and facial topper with Morgan).

Enter Buck Adams, a private dick hired by Isis's family to investigate the suicide. Who does he employ for help? Lenè the supermodel, of course! (She's on the "inside.") The fact that she's taking classes in defense and detection for a "career to fall back on" simply drives another nail in the coffin of inanity. Speaking of nailing, Buck drills sassy reporter Asia Carrera in a scene more sweet than nasty, as her pretty countenance goes down on his heated rod like a baby to a lollipop. Asia, baby, you can do no wrong!

Sporting a Superboy cowlick, Steven St. Croix "saves" redhead Chantè, a deed for which she offers her virgin asshole for him to plunder. The penetration shot exists (albeit obscured), but a cardinal sin is committed when his pop shot on her belly flies in from off camera — no dick, no deal.

In an arrogant run of sheer dipso nuttiness, Morgan leaves a Jack of Hearts calling card on all the dead babes he's dumped. He's not just an oily gigolo, see, but also an incompetent serial murderer who likes to hit women. (In a most tasteless scene, he stalks Asia, landing two solid roundhouse punches to her face! Bet Andrea Dworkin'll have this one on her top ten list).

After a glacial start, a gratuitous four-way between Leena, Morgan, Shelby Stevens and Ian Daniels probably generates the most heat. When Leena bends over for Morgan's rear entry — which is more successful than St. Croix's — the sexual action picks up, which is more than can be said for the shocking finale, which wraps itself up quicker than a Sumo wrestling postgame show. We're out the door before we knew what hit us.

Lene's presence throughout the film provides us with eye-candy but little else. A supermodel lesbian free-for-all warms up the audience for her eventual coupling with Alex Sanders on a photo shoot, but the resulting action is strictly soft-core. We're getting into a negative point spread here, and Lene fans will not be amused. Because the erotic segments are often so well-done and heated, Supermodel is a worthwhile choice to stock. But the frustrations are aplenty, making this merely a good film, with its dumb spots preventing it from ever becoming a classic.