The final cinematic abomination from the late John Derek and his legendary non-actress wife Bo Derek turns out to be their worst collaboration ever, beating out even Bolero for sheer incomprehensible awfulness and ranking as one of the silliest monstrosities ever committed to film. Though no recognizable plot exists, the central premise seems to involve Bo's ongoing obsession with finding a suitable replacement body for the soul of her late husband (a sleepwalking Anthony Quinn), who killed himself after learning that a bum ticker would prevent him from having constant sex with her. The most likely candidate seems to be a handsome but oily thief (Leo Damian), but Bo can't seem to bring herself to murder him outright; fortunately, he kicks the bucket on his own. Lacking both the rampant nudity and laugh-out-loud campiness of John & Bo's previous erotic anti-masterpieces, there is literally nothing to recommend this film, even to bad-movie aficionados.