This well-meaning disaster, rescued from the obscurity it surely craves, is without doubt a candidate for one of the worst films ever made. The main story - a documentary-style look at the problems of transvestites - is a masquerade of good intentions shot with all the panache of an Indian restaurant commercial. Glen (pseudonymously played by the director himself) eyes ladies' underwear in clothing stores, covets his fiancée's angora; and when dressed to kill s/he looks like a straggler from the Monty Python lumberjack song. Snicker, snicker. Presiding over proceedings - goodness knows why - is a senile Lugosi looking as though he had strayed in from another movie. His advice as an 'expert' takes the form of endless taunts...but see for yourself, it's a film that defies description.