Mr. Bocca, an old habitue of grand hotels and pleasure domes, has written a ribald entertainment (as awful as Nadine, 1974) which succeeds, quite remarkably, in being neither sexy nor funny. It takes place on the Riviera with the usual assortment of national and sexual denominations, titled Englishmen, Corsican Mafia, swingers, mothballs, and an occasional man's man like Philippe Buson who had served time as a pied noir. Or a racer like Bill Snow killed off early on. Mostly it deals with the fatuously flamboyant Giselle-she has a scar on her face (East End hoods) and a pockmarked buttock (was she used as a human dart board?) none of which interferes with her beddability. Or her talent for spreading herself and trouble. There's also her friend Terry Schwartz, from Boston, who starts out in a suit from Filene's but learns quickly. It really won't arouse your interest or anything else, In a word--Giselle's--""yuk-making.