Of course, the real things of beauty are Reeves and Swayze themselves.
In most Hollywood product, it's the girls who appear topless; here it's the blokes, their tanned torsos and honed pectorals framed in a series of leering, lingering close-ups. (Reeves' introduction – shooting at cardboard targets in the middle of a downpour – is effectively a wet T-shirt competition.)
The only female exposure comes from a naked harpy whose nudity doesn't stop her kicking the shit out of an FBI agent. And though Reeves has a nominal love interest in Lori Petty (who tellingly absents herself from one dick-measuring contest with the words, “Too much testosterone here!”), the true romance is between the reckless, risk-taking newbie Johnny Utah and Swayze's Zen master criminal Bodhi. (“You're getting too goddamn close to this surfer guru buddy of yours!” gripes Gary Busey's FBI old-timer with visible distaste.)
Just count the times the stars grapple each other: in the sea, on the ground, even in the air. “I know it's hard for you, Johnny,” says Bodhi, shortly before jumping out of an airplane (a stunt that Swayze daringly performed himself). “You want me so bad it's like acid in your mouth...”
“Are we going to jump or jerk off?” quips Reeves in another loaded exchange that gives a whole new meaning to Bodhi's search for “the ultimate ride”...