This is what used to be called a “nudie-cutie” movie, which was essentially a weak plot used as an excuse to show naked people in a recreational setting. Of course, having been produced in 1961, there isn’t even that much nudity involved. You get to see star Davee Decker’s boobs, which are of the “perky” variety, but anything below the waist on anyone in the flick is either from behind, or they’re wearing shorts or a towel.
The plot is typical. Crusading newspaper editor Arthur Sherwood (Norman Casserly) sends his ace reporter, Stacy Taylor (Decker) to get a tell-all story on a local nudist camp. He wants to expose it as a hotbed of sin and lust, and ends up firing Taylor when her story suggests the place is about as filled with sin and lust as the average church camp. The residents are naked, but they’re all wholesome, all-American types.
Sherwood proceeds to do his own investigation, joining the camp, much to the annoyance of Taylor, who’s still there. Like any of the men photographed from the front, Sherwood spends all of his time wearing a bathing suit. He’s all set to write his big expose, but ends up as another convert to the healthy nudist lifestyle, rehires Taylor, and tells her he’s in love with her.
Like a good early ‘60s woman, who was expected to be pretty, safely sexy, and naturally attracted to overbearing jerks, she’s in love with him, too, and you get your happy ending. But no “happy ending.” Like most movies in this genre, there’s no sex at all.