If Judge David Johnson had a nickel for every bikini blood bath he's been involved in, he's have $3.45.
Bikinis and a bloodbath. That's pretty much what you can expect.
So there's this bloodbath going on and it involves a bunch of girls. And, see, they're all wearing bikinis!
Facts of the Case
A group of friends from high school (yeah right, community night college more like it) decide to celebrate the end of the school year by throwing a massive party/sleepover. On the agenda? Drinking alcohol and shedding their clothes and soaking in a hot tub. What they aren't expecting is a killing spree from a deranged chef.
Despite the warnings of their bizarre gym teacher (Debbie Rochon, Santa Claws) the girls ignore the threat of mass murder until it's too late—for when Chef Death attacks, you can be sure that you'll die in a bloodbath—providing you're wearing a bikini of course.
Look, objectively speaking, Bikini Bloodbath is a lousy movie. It's poorly put together, with several editing misfires, blatant runtime padding and ear-raping music. Made on the cheap, it appears to exist solely to throw some bare breasts and cheap knock-off horror effects at you without the cumbersome intrusion of a coherent story. On the other hand, made on the cheap, it appears to exist solely to throw some bare breasts and cheap knock-off horror effects at you without the cumbersome intrusion of a coherent story.
I would be lying if I told you I didn't have some fun watching this thing. Yes it's crappy, but not in a soul-torturing way. Bikini Bloodbath is fully aware that is likely out of Academy Award contention and, you know what, it's fine with that. You want bikinis and stupidity and nipples and throat slices, here you go. It's all done with hapless vigor and the sheer energy of the cast actually rubbed off on me. I sat there, saying to myself "Wow this is a moronic movie, but I can't look away." That's a win for Blood Bath Pictures if you ask me. And I'm assuming you did because you're reading this.
The girls are having a good time dancing around and dousing each other's chests with liquid and changing into their swimsuits together (who does that?) and their counterparts, the football players (conveniently wearing shirts that say "Football Players") are having their own special brand of fun in their sleepover. While the girls provide the eye candy and victim role for Chef Death, it's the guys that generate the most laughs in the movie. Basically, the football team is comprised of closeted gay men, aside from two oblivious team members, and though it sounds base and stupid (and it is), the conceit actually spins a few yuks.
Gore is fairly low-key with some off-screen stabbing and few on-screen ones that result in "dribbling" and not much else. Lots of spitting up blood, but that's par for the course. As I noted earlier there isn't any story. Just some relatively attractive women with female back tattoos (I think Bikini Bloodbath set the record for most tramp stamps simultaneously on screen) running away from a killer. The end. But at least we had a few laughs.
The film looks fine showing its digital origins, but fake widescreen hurts. Extras are limited to a blooper reel that's a waste of your time and a music video.
A stupid movie for sure and clumsily made, but Bikini Bloodbath still managed to entertain. And it delivered on what it advertised.
Not guilty. Why not? It's Christmas!
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Scales of Justice
Studio: Blood Bath Pictures
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