Critic Reviews

Lohan's really playing second fiddle to wannabes who look like they failed their auditions for The Challenge. Episode 1 suggests we're watching a show about accidental gigolos, which in train-wreck terms is at least more fun than I Know Who Killed Me. [11 Jan 2019, p.48]

When Lohan is offscreen, her “Beach Club” is an exercise in reality-TV boredom. When she returns, it’s a reminder that her late-2000s reign over tabloid culture wasn’t just a fluke.

"Real Housewives" meets "Temptation Island" with an unexpected, and welcome, twist--Lohan is more or less the mature presence.

Beach House is a bag of Pop Rocks that don’t fizz, a firework that sputters into nothing much. ... Perhaps the cast will come to seem interesting after a few episodes, but if any of them were switched out after the premiere, I wouldn’t notice. Lohan and her business partner Panos Spentzos—who with his matching yellow hat and caftan, outsize ego, and acid asides has a much cannier grasp on how to be a reality star than anyone else assembled.

Vapid and tedious. ... It's easy to dismiss a show like this as cheap trash, but it's worse than that: It's gendered malice peddled as fun in the sun. Even worse for a show set in paradise--it's ugly. Visually ugly, the fuzzy camera unable to capture the lusciousness of the seaside or the tranquility of Mediterranean architecture. Lohan, at least, comes off as emotionally intelligent with her staff, her deep, flinty voice and confident HBIC aura a welcome break from the participants' acrid attention-seeking.

It’s great on paper, but in practice, the show faces a number of insurmountable obstacles that make it almost unwatchable. First and foremost: This Lindsay Lohan show is barely about Lindsay Lohan. ... Without its supposed star, all that remains is a reality TV show that barely bothers to have a premise.