A guy - any guy - meets a girl in a bar, at a party, in the supermarket, they make small talk, and finally he asks her out. Happens all the time, right?

Of course, during the whole conversation, the guy's brain is shouting "Show me your tits! Show me your tits!" every other microsecond. Which, of course, she doesn't. And if our intrepid horndog said, "I'll give you a stick of gum if you show me your tits," he'd get slapped - or slapped with a lawsuit, given our litigious times. Yet every year at Mardi Gras, women flash their tits for a cheap string of beads.

It's this sort of behavioral conundrum which is captured in Mardi Gras 2003. At the very least you could say the DreamGirls videographer is thorough, in that it seems like he actually managed to get a shot of every mammalian protuberance within a 10 mile radius of Bourbon Street. Now don't get us wrong, tits are swell, but two solid hours of non-stop jiggle vision?

Mardi Gras 2003 reveals set after set, pair after pair, after you get the idea. Slowly, after the initial thrill of viewing every size and shape imaginable, one's physical appreciation and mental aesthetic begins to wear down like the nub of an overused eraser.

As a purported "documentary" we learn nothing about the history of Mardi Gras; there are no interviews; nor any kind of cutaway material whatsoever. Undeniably, the collection of tits are great - taken in small doses, along with a popular Mardi Gras brew or two.