THE GHOST IN THE INVISIBLE BIKINI: a ghoulish delight

You may not believe me but it wasn't the titillating title that drew my attention to this 1966 Beach Party B-movie.
My prime interest lay not in the hordes of scantily clad young ladies cavorting around a supposedly haunted mansion, but in the opportunity to watch two great stars eeking out the very tail-end of their careers.

74 year old Basil Rathbone had been working in the movies since 1921 and was for many (including me) the definitive Sherlock Holmes, after playing the great detective in 14 films during the 1940s. 20 years after the last of those thrillers he still looked much like the suave Basil Rathbone I remembered but that beautiful voice, with its crisp authoritative diction, was no more. Each time he opened his mouth to speak it sounded like he had a handkerchief stuffed in it. His speech was muffled, verging on slurred on times and he was no longer able to use his voice to command the scene as he had done in the Holmes movies, and countless historical adventures.
It would be very interesting to know how he felt about this particular project which was so obviously way beneath his talents and stature as an actor. It's not just the inane script and nonsensical plot (both of which resemble a Scooby Doo storyline), but also the indignity of playing support to a bunch of top-billed vacuous non-entities (Tommy Kirk, Deborah Walley and Aron Kincaid, anybody?) who between them struggle to muster the screen presence of a wet paper bag.
The film's other great star of Hollywood's Golden Age had appeared with Rathbone in several movies in the late 1930s, including 'Son of Frankenstein', and 'Tower of London' but sadly shared no scenes with him here. Boris Karloff's character spends the entire movie entombed in a crypt and commenting on the action which he observes via a crystal ball with televisual capabilities. He appeared in so many low budget flicks in the final decade of his life that it's less of a shock to see him sharing the screen with a bunch of overage professional teenagers acting out Hollywood's idea of 60s youth culture.

But more than that, Karloff never allowed inferior material to drag him down. No matter how schlocky the script or feeble the acting abilities of his co-stars, he always managed to rise above them and maintain his dignity. He's classy here in a way that Rathbone isn't, although in the latter's defence, Karloff is not required to fist fight a 22 year old or do a comedy concussion routine after running head first into a wall.
Sad though it is to see these two great actors reduced to such juvenile nonsense they do at least provide a reason for watching the film. Without them there is nothing to hold the attention. The titular invisible bikini is not at all titillating and neither are the numerous other bikinis sported by Nancy Sinatra and her youthful chums. Their swimwear succeeds in both revealing an impressive amount of bare skin and also rendering it completely sexless. The only youth revolution on show here is one in favour of a regression to pre-pubescent childishness and an uncontrollable passion for dancing round the swimming pool. Crazy man,,,,, crazy!