Starring Erika Linder. Rated 18A

Let’s say you’re just minding your own business at a downtown-Toronto bar and a stranger sidles up all seductive-like and, almost unbidden, confides that “I don’t have the emotional stamina for intimacy.” Do you A) run for the hills, or B) yell “Script!” to see if that ridiculous goose egg is really sitting there on the page?

The correct answer is C) it doesn’t matter. Below Her Mouth is breathtakingly bad, although its aggressive ad campaign makes a convincing case that quality be damned, given the generous amounts of nudity and frank sex on display here. The politics of strap-ons notwithstanding, the movie certainly isn’t stingy with the woman-on-woman action one could say is missing from mainstream fare.

The implication is that this amateurish Canadian effort is a few notches above male-centred “adult entertainment”. But, hell, the characters even have porn names. Natalie Krill plays “Jasmine”, a fashion-magazine editor whose relationship with hunky fiancé “Rile” (Sebastian Pigott) is upended when she meets “Dallas” (Erika Linder), a stylishly androgynous roofer infamous for loving and leaving. (It’s her emotional-stamina deficiency, of course.)

Jazzy’s relationship with Rile seems notably cool in the bedroom department, so it’s not a huge surprise when she’s mildly responsive to Dallas’s mixed message in the bar. But it is kind of weird when she throws 12 hissy fits before finally giving in to that sweet, sweet girl love—again and again.

Veteran TV director April Mullen, working from first-timer Stephanie Fabrizi’s clunk-studded script, sticks to the shaky-cam aesthetics of those Girl He Met Online–type cable movies, as underlined by homemade synthesizer music and shapeless editing. Krill isn’t good, but her background in dance helps her sell the demanding physicality of the role. Linder, who has a Kristen Stewart–meets–James Dean vibe, is picture-perfect but gives line readings so flat she makes Mad Men’s January Jones look like Meryl Streep.

To be fair, Linder is a groundbreaking Swedish model, here saddled with a phonetically engineered American accent. In any case, the story makes no sense. Good golly, how will Jasmine explain her reorientation to that already uninterested boyfriend? And will this big news ever be accepted in the ultraconservative world of international fashion?