It as the boxcover that first got to me. Nothing fancy, mind you. Nothing so artistically out in left field nor so conceptually paralyzing as to leave you wondering whether you're holding the latest Calvin Klein ad in your hand instead of a porn tape. Instead, Bikini Beach, lensed in Cabo San Lucas, works on essentially the most primitive of levels. It begins, first, with a basic, brightly-colored box that features seven naked lovelies – Rebecca Bardoux, Lacy Rose, Alicia Rio (who doesn't appear in any of the sex scenes) Summer Knight (also AWOL), Tiffany Mynx, Sierra and Crystal Wilder – forming an au naturel conga line against khaki-colored sand and a lapis lazuli sky. For those of you who have to endure those long wintry evenings in Buffalo, for instance, this can-can dance is the kind of inspiring sight that offers some hope and consolation for tomorrow. Now on to the show.

I've heard different variations of the comment, but it usually goes something like this: "Sure, so and so's a good director, but he (she) wouldn't know a good sex scene if it jumped up and hit him (her) in the face."

I think just about every director in the XXX biz has had this chuck hurled in his direction at one time or another, both rightly and wrongly aimed. Jim Enright (he's the one on-camera with the "G.I." tan lines), too, has had his share of the fling. But with Bikini Beach, Enright's sexual perceptions show sand (if you'll pardon the expression) and determination to get the great body angle. Then of course, there's no overburdening script to deal with in Bikini Beach, so that helps a lot, but it's not to minimize Enright's work on this show.

Besides being a congratulatory statement on the glories of bareass beach bongo-ing, Bikini Beach is one of the industry's more insightful stabs at cinema veritè. It filters out b.s.; it gets square behind the scenes for the proverbial slices of life and grants the XXX fan nicely drawn personality exemplars of industry faves. Some funny schtick, too. For instance, upon airline departure, one of the girls hands Randy West a barf bag. "No, I've got popcorn, thanks," he says. One of Randy's better rips.

As if a reward for witty repartee, West gets the leadoff scene with Tiffany Mynx at a location described as "Lover's Beach". Aptly named. This lyrical outdoor private locale, replete with thundering waves and rugged terrain, serves as the place-setting for four of the show's five sex scenes. After some sexy ocean skinny dipping with Tiffany Mynx, Sierra and Rebecca Bardoux, West and Mynx play a little nude grab-ass by a pile of rocks. Sorry, Randy, but if any footage dictated a clinical need for "Slim Fast", this is it.

Tiffany mounts Randy and proceeds to gobble him, affording the camera the additional pleasure of her glorious spread butt hole. There are preliminary moments in this interlude when West looks like he's being laid to rest instead of laid, but Randy responds with second wind, does Tiff doggy-style, then drops a load in her mouth in a protracted dick sucking sequence.

Next is essentially a one-on-one scene dressed up to look like a threeway. It has Terry Thomas, Crystal Wilder (in Helen Keller sunglasses) and Jonathan Morgan. Thomas eats Wilder's ass while she strokes Morgan, dropping her usual load of spittle on Jonathan in the process. Thomas then takes over, working on Crystal from the bottom like an auto mechanic doing a brake reline, and finishes up with a doggy pop shot.

Like he's looking for the treasure of Sierra Madre, T.T. Boy skulks a nude sunbathing Rebecca Bardoux. She, too, is wearing Helen Keller sunglasses, suggesting this may be the new fashion trend among pornstresses. Rebecca consumes T.T.'s dick like she's attacking a submarine sandwich. He then bangs her against the rocks puppy style. A following reverse cowgirler shows some major initiative in the camera angle department. Then T.T. splays Bardoux's legs for a frontal assault and spouts a geyser.

West, Lacy Rose and Sierra chance upon a large dilapidated hut which West calls an ancient sacrificial area. The result of a hurricane, possibly? The trio, however, create a furious windstorm of their own. Sierra attacks rose's nipples while Lacy bares her ass (what an ass), allowing Sierra freer access to her southern hemisphere. West, who was working off camera to get his mojo rising, sticks his dick into the fray, tendering it towards Lacy's mouth. After being doggied, Sierra kind of disappears from the picture (another victim of an Aztec sacrifice?) while Randy plumbs Lacy's depths. Then Sierra reappears to lick him for a sloppy aperitif.

The finale indoor party scene is kind of like a perverse Corona ad. With the rest of the cast acting as the comments-tossing peanut gallery, Sierra, with beer bottle in hand, sucks T.T.'s outstretched clothes pole with the facility of a coed on spring break. He rewards her by taking her on top of a dining table, granting Sierra a beer baptism. This creates a slippery venue allowing Sierra to spin on top of the table like a lazy susan while T.T. proceeds to fuck her in clockwise motion, spinning her salad. Seeing is believing.

One other thing – bring at least a SPF-15 lotion while you're watching. The sun is bright and the indirect heat from the screen will give you a nasty burn.