Here's a tape so innocuous and so artificially sexual that it neither offends nor arouses, unless one counts the barely post-teen Playboy consumer with high expectations and little experience with real erotica.

Girls isn't a bad tape, but the creativity is on the low side, as an endless series of familiar scenarios are strung together like so many fuck-me pumps tangled on a telephone wire. You've got yer hot tubs, yer photography studios, and yer obviously phony masturbation solos going for the better part of an hour. They're all covered in that goopy Vaseline-on-the-lens style which went out with leisure suits and blow cuts.

Thankfully, all the previous nonsense means less running time for the staple cliché of the genre, i.e., Baywatch-style bikini bimbos frolicking around on the sand burnishing each other to a blinding shine with cocoa butter.