A bunch of Meatballs have a Wet Hot American Summer lifeguarding at North Avenue Beach and explore Sexual Perversity in Chicago. Okay, that’s not really fair to this locally grown feature, but writer/director Naughton draws heavily on a combination of genre conventions (sincere guy Wells waffles about having sex with his gal pal while horndog Belushi screws everything on legs) and Mametesque foul talk delivered like jazz riffs. The production values are fair, though as often happens with ultra-low-budget films, the sound recording is sometimes muffled and interiors often look underlit. The four leads dance the “who will end up with whom’’ waltz with earnest energy, and it’s a believable if worrisome portrait of what lifeguards are really thinking about. Hint: It isn’t CPR.