This wasn't a bad movie. Well, actually,
it stank, but at least the cast and crew seemed to be having a
good time, displaying wholesome good humor, that hallmark of the
60s, to which Joel rapturously pays homage to everyone's eventual
terminal boredom. Anyway, the flick flings itself, oozing, at
our feet, bragging on and on about those glorious days before
the invention of cellulite.
Young, eager, and clueless Tommy Kirk hooks up with a sidekick
(Jimmy Carter) and myriad other Pasty White Guys for the cruise
of a lifetime amidst endless steam whistles, out-takes from 'Horror
Beach', a clunky claims adjuster (Festus Haggen), evil yacht-happy
overlords (Jesse Ventura), dodging snotty harbormasters (Ashley
Wilkes, Meriwether Lewis), and falls madly in love with exotic
Creepy Girl (Jet Li).
A looney time is had by all, as ancient scrolls and bikini tops
change hands with abandon. But, I ask you, how bad can a movie
be if it's got Little Richard? Then again, the whole thing could
double as a beachwear infomercial or an educational short on the
inherent ennui of scuba diving.