A middle-aged man on his way to a health farm ends up in a massage parlour in the big city where he tries to get a back rub. Well, he gets more than his back rubbed, if you know what I mean (nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more), and the infamous Doctor Fummel has to recruit more "talent" ... and that's unfortunately where the movie already loses any semblance of a plot. Not that the original audience would have complained, because they were simply here to ogle dolly birds getting their kit off. Which is fair enough, but the pervading atmosphere of daftness, daft dialogue, "James Last for the poor"-muzak and the incessant giggling almost make it impossible to get turned on.
Actually, there is a pretty good scene at the beginning, where one of Dr. Fummel's girls seduces the postman. There are a few lines of coherent dialogue, they get their kit off, and -- unusually for a Brummer movie -- the man isn't a potbellied freak with a combover. You will frantically try to cling to these images for the rest of the movie. Proving once again that providing 90 minutes of even the most basic titilation is damned hard work.
Tragic footnote: the guy playing Doctor Fummel, Alexander Kessler, stands out from the movie because he's good-looking and can act, but Kessler would only star in two more of Alois Brummer's titty movies before calling it a day, thespially.
