I've been a fan of mindless action flicks, since those old '60s TV syndication packages ground them out on my local Cleveland station. FIVE ASHORE IN SINGAPORE is a typical example, pure time-waster for the fans.
Errol Flynn's extremely handsome son Sean toplines as a secret agent sent to Singapore to investigate undercover the disappearances of many U.S. marines. He's no Mark Harmon, but finally with the help of four marines on his team trying to get kidnapped he discovers an evil plot involving freezing the jar-heads in a mad-scientist experiment.
Lowbrow, slapstick hijinks on location are fun, if tedious, as film's 102-minute running time is way over the limit. One of my all-time favorite starlets Marika Green (aunt of current star Eva Green) gets lead billing but an underwritten role as a British agent, affording the fans one sexy non-nude but revealing getup scene.
It's almost quaint when the marines resort to torture to get info, but generally director Bernard Toublanc-Michel is merely traffic cop, not auteur. The mad scientist's maniacal laughter at the film's climax is beyond camp, as is the overdone cliché spotlighting local B-girls in slit skirts.
The print I watched prominently displayed the Paramount logo, but I'm not sure in which territories the Hollywood major distributed the film.
Errol Flynn's extremely handsome son Sean toplines as a secret agent sent to Singapore to investigate undercover the disappearances of many U.S. marines. He's no Mark Harmon, but finally with the help of four marines on his team trying to get kidnapped he discovers an evil plot involving freezing the jar-heads in a mad-scientist experiment.
Lowbrow, slapstick hijinks on location are fun, if tedious, as film's 102-minute running time is way over the limit. One of my all-time favorite starlets Marika Green (aunt of current star Eva Green) gets lead billing but an underwritten role as a British agent, affording the fans one sexy non-nude but revealing getup scene.
It's almost quaint when the marines resort to torture to get info, but generally director Bernard Toublanc-Michel is merely traffic cop, not auteur. The mad scientist's maniacal laughter at the film's climax is beyond camp, as is the overdone cliché spotlighting local B-girls in slit skirts.
The print I watched prominently displayed the Paramount logo, but I'm not sure in which territories the Hollywood major distributed the film.
