Now if this isn't a novel idea for a movie, IK don't know what is: a group of hormonally overactive college undergrads work at a summer resort where they leer, fumble and slobber over one another.

And get this. We have nerds, uppity bitches, dopey blondes with an overabundance of chest, snooty frat brothers, and guys apparently auditioning to become the next Jerry Lewis.

Now, if I were the director, and I were smart, I'd have watched every single, solitary summer hijinx film in creation to make sure I didn't fall into the same rut that films of this genre predictably fall into. And director Madden probably did. That's why Summer Job, though dopey as they come, more importantly maintains a pretty consistent level of titillation despite scenes that take you to the edge and then drop you in the shallow end of the pool. Translation: topless only.

The camera is shameless. It peaks up skirts, licks bikini bottoms and takes every affordable opportunity to look in a window, so why draw these imaginary lines of morality? Lip-smacking Sherri Rose plays the head counselor who has about the only clue to what's going on and manages to show us her cute tits more than a few times along the way. Rose is aided and abetted by a score of supporting and secondary blondes parading around in skimpy attire you forget who's who. Total nonsense, but with all the cheesecake running around it doesn't seem to matter.