BIKINI SPRING BREAK is little more than a string of tit-filled sequences based on the most generic of male fantasies, all tied together with a threadbare plot. Said threadbare plot, as bare bones as it is, manages to squeeze in plot holes annoying enough to garner attention even with all the bare breasts being flung about with fervor and generosity. And poor Robert Carradine is wasted here. Now, let’s get a few things straight. Sure, this is a sex comedy and that has something to do with the level of expectations we set going in. But, and this is the kicker, a sex comedy – or any genre film, for that matter – doesn’t have to be insipid. I’ll point to “American Pie” as an example of how the horny funny film can be what it is, yet intelligent. That film, at least, had real characters and a real story and – another kicker – CLEVER humor. There’s little in the way of humor here. The lowballs BIKINI SPRING BREAK tosses to get its bargain bin cheap chuckles are pandering and lowest common denominator, even for this kind of film. Even laughs-and-libido cinema can be good. Nothing about this is good, except the copious nudity, but the awfulness of the proceedings even interfere with that. How’s a guy to get a spank on when even multiple pairs of yummy boobies are overwhelmed by cinematic decrepitude? And as for Carradine, of “Revenge of the Nerds” fame, we all know going into this that he’s the B-tier actor that gives name recognition to the poster art and that that’s why he’s here. He’s a familiar face. It’s hardly a new technique in the B-movie trade. But it’s sad to see said familiar face so shamelessly misused. I should say unused, because Carradine’s character serves little purpose here; he spends much of the time – key word – padding out the length of BIKINI SPRING BREAK, phoning in a pointless performance. You get the feeling he wishes he were somewhere else. Just like me. BIKINI SPRING BREAK comes off like nobody involved gave a shit. It’s so tossed together, even by the standards of exploitation filmmakers and cinematic ripoff artists, that one can’t even pretend it’s anything other than it is – lackluster product cranked out to snag a dime from every bursting-at-the-balls sucker who owns all the direct-to-DVD semi-sequels to “American Pie” and would’ve known better than to buy this trash if he’d just taken the time to execute a cum-dump before heading to the store. As it is, if the buyer’s brain is addled by the unspent semen and poor judgment prevails, some unlucky bastard could end up at home wishing he’d just downloaded porn or watched “Band Camp” again.
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