Annette Funicello

Bikini Beach (1964)

Bikini Beach (1964)

(On TV, October 2019) Considering that Bikini Beach is the third of the Beach Party series films that I’ve seen, it’s fair to say that I’ve developed not only a slight fascination for these films, but also a better sense of what they share (Frankie Avalon, Annette Funicello, beach parties, surfing, dancing, teenage antics, and the least threatening biker in film history) and what they don’t. In Bikini Beach, we have a millionaire aiming to close the beach, a British rock star that could have been played by Mike Myers, some drag racing and a chimpanzee who’s not as smart as the teenagers as much as the teenagers are as dumb as it is. As with other films in the series, it’s meant to be dumb fun rather than high art and it succeeds reasonably well at giving us a taste of this very particular variation of the 1960s atmosphere. There are a few decent set-pieces here and there despite (or sometimes because) of the low budget and straightforward style. Avalon has fun portraying the British pop star (the influence of The Beatles isn’t subtle), drag racing is actually kind of interesting, and Harvey Lembeck once again gets a few smiles as Eric Von Zipper (a character that actually grew on me throughout the series). Bikini Beach isn’t the finest film of the series nor a particularly enlightened choice by itself, but it’s amusing enough in a time-capsule kind of way to be worth a look if that’s your kind of thing.

How to Stuff a Wild Bikini (1965)

How to Stuff a Wild Bikini (1965)

(On Cable TV, September 2019) In the universe of sub-subgenres, the early-sixties beach party musical comedy is as weird and charming as it comes. The basic ingredients were a beach, a few teenagers, Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello (both here in secondary roles), silly bikers, songs, and as much dumb comedy as one can stand. The result is … oddly refreshing, especially when compared to far more serious material. How to Stuff a Wild Bikini, sixth-of-seven movies in the series, features some magical nonsense headed by Buster Keaton in a supporting comic performance, staring at the screen after a particularly inane bit of dialogue saying “and that’s all the plot you’ll get from me.”  Keaton, despite a somewhat racist role, is quite funny—probably funnier than the rest of the film, which is light and dumb and quite proud of it. The ending motorcycle race must be seen to be believed, since it blatantly uses terrible special effects (rear projection, sped-up film, footage running backwards) to portray simple safe stunts as dangerous as possible. Among the musical numbers, Harvey Lembeck gets a bit of a highlight with “Follow your Leader” as he temporarily abandons the biker image for a suit. The gender roles are terrible and that’s part of the film’s dated charm, forthright in what it tries to be. Both Keaton and the Beach Party series would end soon after How to Stuff a Wild Bikini—not exactly a high note, but not an embarrassment either.