Giles Wingate is in a pinch. Relieved of his sizable inheritance through a revolving door of gold-digging wives — including his former maid, who cunningly moves from housework to ho’work — he strikes upon a jolly good idea to replenish the coffers: opening a School for Sex.
Written, produced and erected — er, directed — by Pete Walker (For Men Only), this British bird-watcher takes place at the estate of Giles (Walker regular Derek Aylward), where he teaches young women how to use their built-in wiles to win, win and win, hearts be damned. Each libidinous learner among his initial class of four appears to be as horny as Times Square at rush hour.
Classes cover everything from bikini calisthenics to spotting the millionaire. Regardless of the syllabus, a peering, leering cop (Bob Andrews, The Soldier) practically on loan from Keystone is ever so eager to observe, what with being married to a woman whose shape isn’t curves, but an isosceles trapezoid. While clothing for the nubile pupils is often optional — and taken — School for Sex is rather chaste, being all about the look, not the act.
Nudity aside, Walker’s script sways more toward actual female empowerment (no, really!) and away from sleaze. This is crucial, because if Aylward and/or Giles weren’t likable, School for Sex wouldn’t be approachable, and Walker all but acknowledges this with his light touch. Both its sexiest woman and most valuable player is Thunderballer Rose Alba as the middle-aged countess-cum-headmistress. (Speaking of 007, the women’s costumes are credited to “Pussy Galore.”) Always clothed, yet never a wrist’s length further from a cocktail, Alba gives a strong comedic performance in a movie that doesn’t even ask her to. —Rod Lott