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Storyline
"Swimwear Illustrated" is approaching its fifteenth anniversary issue. From a group of eager and beautiful young women, five are chosen for a photo shoot on an island off the California coast. One of the five will be the cover girl, and she'll get an extra $100,000. On the island, the group stays at an isolated inn, staffed by the odd Frab. There's him, the five models, and four magazine staff: photographer, make-up man, ambitious assistant Anesa, and Jack Denton, the playboy in charge of production. One by one, models and staff disappear, leaving Jack notes of apologetic farewell. But have they left by choice, or is murder afoot? Who would commit such crimes, and why? Written by
<jhailey@hotmail.com>
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Taglines:
Sex, Sun and Murder...
Certificate:
R
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Did You Know?
Trivia
Stuntman
Jay C. Currin was killed the first day of filming when a stunt-fall went wrong and he landed on rocks.
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Quotes
Jack Denton:
I don't know what's going on here, but we are losing models left and right!
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What does it want to be? Comedy? Drama? Slasher? Peepshow? Hard to decipher, so it chooses them all. The alarming thing at beginning before the film begins to roll; it reads "Base in part of a true story". Okay. Just what was true? That's the puzzle.
For the 15th anniversary swimsuit edition of a major sports magazine five girls are selected to travel with the photography crew to an exotic island to take the cover shoot. One of these lucky girls will be cover girl and $100,000 to go with it. Everything is going smoothly, until one by one the girls start vanishing and even the crew to only leave a note behind explaining their disappearance.
"Bikini Island" is trashy, hackneyed b-grade fodder that takes quite awhile before breaking out and setting up its blaring red herrings. Although the scenery; attractively voluptuous models wearing very little and posing for the camera does help you take your mind off its sluggish pace and thin build-up. Plenty of nudity, strutting around in bikinis, numerous photo shoots accompanied by bouncy music fuelled montages and the obligatory beach volleyball game caught in slow motion. The female cast might easy on the eyes, but not particularly on the ears with second rate performances. Although Holly Floria had an affable persona and Sherry Johnson is decent as the crews' stern assistant. The males don't fair any better either and are portrayed as weirdos or sleaze-bags. The clichéd creepy hotel owner, the gawking make-up artist, the playing playboy boss and the unhinged photographer who gets a kick out of feeding mice to his python. Quite a group.
It might be trying to be tongue-in-cheek, but it's not that clever that it simply turns out rather absurd. Very jarring in its mood shifts. What starts off like a boy's wet dream with frat boy humour turns into a strangely twisted who-dun it formula halfway in and the deaths are amusedly lousy in their quick concession. Like death by plunger!? Chuck in POV shots, peephole peeping, suspicious actions and sinister instrumental flourishes when it was using its sexed-up music soundtrack.
The title really does sum it up; risqué and cheesy entertainment.
"Come to think of it. Everything turns me on."