The lowest of the low. A few cheap models from David Sullivan's stable are gathered in a nightclub and filmed, two-by-two, doing some very sad and virulently non-sexy strip routines, supposedly competing for a prize of a grand, a holiday and a film contract. This tawdry event is hosted by the obnoxious and unfunny "comic" Bernie Winters, previously one half of a popular but infinitely naff Jewish comedy act with his brother Mike; Bernie gurns, emits childish noises and spews forth a few cheap racist gags, looking for all of the world like a great ugly sloth that's being tortured, but the viewer of this tripe gets the pain.
Aside from the compère and the strippers, there's a poor-taste intro from that git John M East where he tries to sell the film as a tribute to Mary Millington, who he lyingly says was an accomplished stripper; plus an edit in of a threesome scene from Emannuelle in Soho posing as the memory of the winning stripper from when she sucked and f**ked the chief judge so that she can best her rivals. The audience reaction shots are also grabs from another Sullivan production, that pile of dregs Queen of the Blues.
As least the stripping is here filmed with a jot more verve than in Blues, with zooms and close-up mostly focussing us in on bouncing knockers and droopy asses. The audience shouts "get 'em off" and, a complete fiction, laughs at Winters' jokes. Winters himself comes across as a truly horrible person. An insult to it's cinema audience, who must surely have felt short-changed by this drek? Thank god it only lasts 45 minutes!
Aside from the compère and the strippers, there's a poor-taste intro from that git John M East where he tries to sell the film as a tribute to Mary Millington, who he lyingly says was an accomplished stripper; plus an edit in of a threesome scene from Emannuelle in Soho posing as the memory of the winning stripper from when she sucked and f**ked the chief judge so that she can best her rivals. The audience reaction shots are also grabs from another Sullivan production, that pile of dregs Queen of the Blues.
As least the stripping is here filmed with a jot more verve than in Blues, with zooms and close-up mostly focussing us in on bouncing knockers and droopy asses. The audience shouts "get 'em off" and, a complete fiction, laughs at Winters' jokes. Winters himself comes across as a truly horrible person. An insult to it's cinema audience, who must surely have felt short-changed by this drek? Thank god it only lasts 45 minutes!
