To begin and end a film with a song by The Wurzles promises a grisly experience, and the film promptly lives down to the expectations it raises. It's so short of inspiration that all the makers can think of for a conclusion (SLIGHT SPOILER COMING:) is a custard pie fight.
It's tempting to say that the last gasp of the "Confessions' series represented British cinema at it's absolute nadir; but take it from me I've seen much worse.
Shot for a princely 220,000 quid, permitted the luxury of a six week shoot instead of the usual five since it was shot at Hayling Island in Hampshire when it was out of season, and Boy does it show.
Played as in 'Carry On Camping' under almost continuously leaden skies, the script consists of a relentless stream of brainless double entendres and unfunny malaprops, we're submitted to the embarrassment of Lance Perceval as a mincing entertainments officer, and it's all done with a visual style that reminds you just how inventive The Benny Hill Show could be.
The inevitable accusations of sexism are fairly easily countered as in the Benny Hill Show the men are caricatured far more cruelly than the women. It strains credibility that an ugly little little troll like Robin Askwith could be such a hit with the ladies, but that part, alas, I'm reliably informed was quite true.
