Those with a taste for beer, breasts and bozos will want to sit back with a few cool ones and relive their formative years. All of the ingredients for a nubile sex farce are present: large house available without parents; unending supply of beer; naughty card games involving removing clothes or wearing soiled briefs as a crown of porn; sex toys readily available at deep discount (bringing new meaning to the term “strapping young man”); lots of beautiful girls (less than poster-perfect need not apply) with the full range of cleavage in various states of exposure; an unquenchable supply of wiener, back-door entry and foot fetish retellings and—perhaps the most important, er, part—a sketch-driven script that is in no danger of turning into a coming-of-age drama.
Director/writer Randy Scooter Lammey more than lives up to his name by letting his fine-looking cast step up to Daniel Watchulonis’ camera and just have fun. For the guys it’s Carl T. Evans as the perpetually shallow pussy chaser, Jarrod Pistilli getting what he wishes for then not knowing what to do with his double luck and Scott Laska living a wonderful life due in large measure to his minimum-wage, product-research-encouraged job in the town’s xxx-rated sex shop. A trio of quasi losers, two extra-large (Joe Spellman, Brendan Wynne), the other (Michael O’Grady Moriarity) with a honker that may way indicate buried treasure below decks—perhaps that’s the lead-in to the sequel, Ruling the Dick.
The captain of Team Girls is the brainy and patient Elizabeth Schmidt, the big-toe superstar, popsicle-devouring, miraculously named Jessica Jolly (cross-reference below) and the sometimes conscience, perennial you’ll-do-right-now Vedette Lim (she being the only smoker adds nothing to the film and needlessly besmirches her character). Batting cleanup are the enticingly chest-laden Laura Bach and the party-slut-in training, Helen Green.
The music tracks keep things moving along with two of their number (“Let’s Get Drunk Together,” “Sleeping Around”) succinctly summing up the action. If you’re in the mood to revisit your long-forgotten youth or making plans for the next parent-less bash, this flick will entertain: just remember to leave your panties at the door or face a $5 cover charge. JWR