Where the Boys Are '84 (1984)

"Fort Lauderdale is a zoo. It's full of millions of guys who are just lookin' for animal sex and debauchery."
"Exactly--that's why we're going!”

The Story:

Four curvaceous co-eds are beset with the great college quandary as spring break approaches: do they hit the slopes or head for the beach? It’s looking like a beach party tonight as the gals head down to sunny Fort Lauderdale, which has been seized by a throng of college students who have turned it into wasteland of alcohol fuelled debauchery. Some have arrived in search of love, some simply to get laid, but all hope to have the wildest week of their lives.

The Review:

This 80s update of the sunny 60s bash of the same name attempts to marry the beach flick cycle with raunchy sex comedy sensibilities. It’s a natural match, and 80s cinematic beaches were often brimming with bikini babes and brawny beefcakes; this one’s no different, and it even tosses in a bunch of perpetually dancing (and often unfortunately mustachioed) background extras to boot. Though the film actually features actresses that starred in everything from James Bond movies to Fantasy Island, an acting showcase this is not. On display instead is a bunch of skin, stupidity, schmaltzy tenderness, and occasional laughs as our girls come with little dignity and even less shame.

Armed with the essentials (151 proof rum and birth control), these girls party with the reckless abandon of many of their male counterparts. Their week eventually involves liquored-up public stripping, drunk driving, debutante party crashing, and even a night in the slammer. Bail is always an expensive proposition, but a hot body dance-off with a $150 grand prize conveniently presents itself. Even their poor blow-up doll doesn’t survive the week, falling in the line of hotel room duty; a rare dignified moment gives him a proper burial at sea--farewell, polyurethane sex warrior. I suppose this movie has more plot than many of its brethren (which is to say, it has some) by giving each girl their own various pursuits. Carole (Lorna Luft) has to put up with her distrustful, suspicious boyfriend, while southern belle Sandra (Wendy Schall) gets involved with a married cop. Perhaps most admirable is Laurie (Lynn-Holly Johnson), who makes no bones about just wanting to get boned. Her target is “Conan,” a beefy hunk who emerges from the ocean like some sort of sexual Godzilla. 

The thrust of the film concerns Jennie (Lisa Hartman), who I think qualifies as the sweet, virginal one. She finds herself caught between two guys who vie for her affection. One is Russell Todd, who slasher fans will recognize as hormonal horndog Scott from Friday the 13th Part 2; Todd displays his acting range here by playing another horndog named Scott, a musician type who ends up clashing with a snooty concert pianist Camden (Daniel McDonald). This leads to some typical underdog vs. high class stuff--for example, since Camden has a boat, Scott acquires the services of a plane as the two try to one up each other. Oddly enough, they find themselves comrades in heartbreak and booze at one point. All of this is a bunch of soppy, soap opera nonsense that often finds itself at odds with the cheery bawdiness.

Luckily, the film regains its sex comedy exuberance by climaxing as all 80s films should: with a synth-laden power ballad. Its pop hooks don’t rescue it from being an uneven affair, but it’s jovial enough. Another song on the soundtrack intones that “it’s gonna be a paradise,” which proves to be true if you like goofy, low-rent nudie flicks. If you’re here, I can only assume you’ll find something to enjoy, be it the antics of “Mr. Bullhorn,” or the random insert shot of an extra wandering the beach with a huge snake (a phallic metaphor for all of the thonged sausage roaming around, perhaps). The final shot is a silly bit of heavy-handedness that implies that future generations of girls will always want to be where the boys are. Had we remained on schedule, I imagine we would have gotten Where The Boys Are ’08 a few years ago. But alas, we're only left with this neon relic, which is just as well. (Brett G.)

Tale of the Tape:

6 out of a possible 10 inches.

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