Maslin Beach wants to be a movie about love and finding it, but it's awfully hard to get your point across with some guy's weiner in your face for 75 minutes. And for a film with this much nakedness, there's an awful lot of talking and precious little action (naughty or otherwise) to drive the plot. Rather, I get the impression that Wayne Groom plopped down on the beach with a dozen actors and a bunch of his poetry, which he has on-the-fly tried to convert into a script. After a series of vignettes involving committment-phobic Internet daters and a magic necklace we are presented with a bit about a nymphomaniac woman who has trysts all across the beach in one afternoon, proving that Groom's grasp on reality is all but lost.
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