In Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, I can fully understand how a lifetime of bitter hate against the poor is undone in one evening, thanks to three life-changing ghosts. However, with Mark Waters’ terrible Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, I find it extremely hard to believe that Matthew McConaughey will change his never-ending pussy-pooling ways, thanks to an extremely similar haunting.

Basically what passed as a romantic comedy before the era of #MeToo, the muscular Matthew plays Connor Mead, a womanizing photographer speaking dialogue totally filled with nothing but the sleaziest of come-ons that, if not being delivered by McConaughey, would easily venture into sexual harassment and, quite possibly, date-rape territory. It seems that he turned out this way because his parents died when he was 7 and left him with elder whore Uncle Wayne (Michael Douglas); do you have ample-enough pity for him yet?

Turns out that this weekend, his grating brother, Paul (the grating Breckin Meyer), is getting married to the irritating Sandra (the irritating Lacey Chabert). Connor shows up already erect and ready to plow through a few drunken bridesmaids, unaware that his childhood sweetheart, Jenny (Jennifer Garner), is there — with whom he had already pumped and dumped — but who cares, because she secretly loves the scamp.

As you can probably imagine, that night he’s visited by three girlfriends, all of whom he attempts multiple times to sleep with, including a 16-year-old Emma Stone. Condoms full of semen drop from the sky at one point, among one of the more grotesque ideas of “romantic” humor in this dreadfully painful flick.

Director Waters, by the way, made other bad films like Mr. Popper’s Penguins, Vampire Academy and Just Like Heaven, wherein a ghostly Reese Witherspoon haunts a forlorn Mark Ruffalo. I haven’t seen it, but judging from the trailer, I’m sure it’s sexually horrific as well. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Although a copycat of AIP’s Beach Party series that AIP eventually scooped up for distribution, It’s a Bikini World stands out for another reason: being the only movie of its kind to be directed by a woman — for the record, Roger Corman protege Stephanie Rothman (Terminal Island). She also co-wrote the screenplay with the producer, Charles S. Swartz, who happened to be her husband.

Pinch-hitting in the Frankie and Annette roles are teen-pic staples Tommy Kirk and Deborah Walley, reteamed from the previous year’s The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini. On the beach, Mike (Kirk) is instantly attracted to the new-in-town Delilah (Walley), but she’s just as quickly put off by his braggadocio vibe of entitled swordsman. Overhearing Delilah tell pal Pebbles (Suzie Kaye, Women of the Prehistoric Planet) she prefers men to have brains, Mike dons a disguise of glasses and bowtie to pass himself off as his nonexistent nerdy brother, Herbert.

By gum, it works! Delilah starts falling for Herbert while challenging Mike to races in hopes of chipping away at his massive alpha-male ego. Meanwhile, Herbert — er, I mean, Mike — is faced with the dilemma fueling so many sitcom reruns in perpetual syndication: how to show up to one place as two people! It culminates in a 12-event, battle-of-the-sexes competition that finds Delilah and Mike racing one another using various vehicles (skateboards, boats, camels) and driving a motorcycle through an automated car wash. Each event is introduced with smilin’ Sid Haig (Spider Baby) twirling semaphore flags.

While Bikini World is built upon the subgenre’s tried-and-true teen themes, it also doesn’t quite have the off-the-shelf interchangeability of other beachsploitation efforts. The first giveaway comes in the first scene, as a trio of sunglasses in close-up relays frames (no pun intended) composed with true forethought. Oh, the flick is still frothy, but Rothman has infused it with an artfulness — pop and otherwise — and a feminist attitude among all the pulchitrude. If only she didn’t have to ditch the uniqueness in the film’s final seconds!

Possibly because the film came out in the trough of the beach-movie cycle, it boasts arguably the least square music performances from today’s vantage point — in particular The Animals’ “We Gotta Get Out of This Place” and The Castaways’ “Liar Liar.” Not even the sight of Bobby “Boris” Pickett (as in “Monster Mash”) dancing to tunes while wearing a comically oversized hat can kill the good taste. —Rod Lott

Get it at dvdrparty.