Back in 1977 I informed my equally horny schoolmates that I was going to bus from our small town to the Big City of Christchurch to see a 'Confessions' movie. When I got back, I couldn't even remember what the women looked like to describe to the guys. That is because the movie was about as funny and/or arousing as afternoon tea with your maiden auntie. Your elderly, extremely unattractive maiden auntie, that is. The 'Confessions' movies were never top-of-the-line entertainment, but this (thankfully) final entry in the notoriously cheap, nasty smut-smeared franchise manages to be genuinely appalling, even when compared to the others. It was actually boring to me as a fourteen-year-old, and with so many naked bodies on screen, that took some doing. Nowadays 'Holiday Camp' makes a far better sociological artifact than it does a cinematic experience, and then only if you're prepared to plumb the depths.
Review of Confessions from a Holiday Camp
