A text prologue warns us that we should not allow evil to enter our house, but I think the more apt word is "entropy." Good grief, what slobs these two babes are!
George (Seymour Cassell) is alone in his San Francisco office and his monstrously expensive home in Tiburon while his wife and child are away in San Diego. Two girls (Sondra Locke as Jackson and Colleen Camp as Donna) knock on his door, asking directions. Well, it's raining, and they're shivering like two drenched pitiful kittens, and they're not sure of the address they're looking for, and, what with one thing and another, George invites them to come in and partake of his pizza by the fire. All three of them wind up in George's bath tub and there follows about five minutes of mostly undifferentiated nudity in double exposure, triple exposure, quadruple exposure, and dodekakuple exposure. They spend the night in a threesome and the next morning the girls fix him breakfast. But something has gotten slightly cockeyed because Georgie's guests gobble everything down with their fingers and pour ketchup and syrup all over the linen and -- "You eat like ANIMALS!", George exclaims and tells them to get out. In his dreams.
Now, don't get me wrong. Sondra Locke is an extraordinary looking young blond with cobalt-blue eyes and Colleen Camp bounces around like a superball. You gotta say, they breed 'em mighty cute down there in Shelbyville, Tennessee, where Locke comes from, and they breed 'em with bodacious tushes too, as we can't help but note after the first five or ten minutes.
But when the girls go berserk, so does the movie. The film is thereafter bathed in a garish green light. The pair put on ghoulish makeup and make gargoyle faces at themselves in the mirrors. They brain a delivery boy and then drown him to make sure. They cuss up a storm and smash windows and furniture. They have one of those scenes in which two people sit across the table from one another, licking food and then jumping each other's bones.
And Georgie? They first render Georgie unconscious with mace (which contains nothing that you can't find in that little red bottle of McIlheny's Tabasco sauce in your kitchen cabinet), tie him up, pour flour and milk all over him, subject him to a psychotic trial, put him through one of those Tolstoy-type semi-executions, slap him around, dress up in outlandish costumes, then prance out on him and his virtually destroyed upper-middle-class home, and are dispatched by a delivery van ex machina.
As for the acting, it's as if someone had told Georgie, "First act polite to these girls, then act panicked after you're tied up." And to the girls: "First act shy, unwilling to impose on anyone, then act crazy." And that's it.
The photography and location work are straight out of a 1970s porn movie. I'm not sure that suggests a total lack of skill. It takes effort and talent to turn San Francisco ugly. The score gives us two Leitmotivs. Georgie's is some pop tune with lyrics about "being free" and "giving in." Jackson and Donna's is a catchy rinky-tink thing called "My Good Old Dad."
I approve of the moral lesson behind the story, though. There are some things you should simply not give in to, even though they might look like a lot of fun at first. All very educational.
George (Seymour Cassell) is alone in his San Francisco office and his monstrously expensive home in Tiburon while his wife and child are away in San Diego. Two girls (Sondra Locke as Jackson and Colleen Camp as Donna) knock on his door, asking directions. Well, it's raining, and they're shivering like two drenched pitiful kittens, and they're not sure of the address they're looking for, and, what with one thing and another, George invites them to come in and partake of his pizza by the fire. All three of them wind up in George's bath tub and there follows about five minutes of mostly undifferentiated nudity in double exposure, triple exposure, quadruple exposure, and dodekakuple exposure. They spend the night in a threesome and the next morning the girls fix him breakfast. But something has gotten slightly cockeyed because Georgie's guests gobble everything down with their fingers and pour ketchup and syrup all over the linen and -- "You eat like ANIMALS!", George exclaims and tells them to get out. In his dreams.
Now, don't get me wrong. Sondra Locke is an extraordinary looking young blond with cobalt-blue eyes and Colleen Camp bounces around like a superball. You gotta say, they breed 'em mighty cute down there in Shelbyville, Tennessee, where Locke comes from, and they breed 'em with bodacious tushes too, as we can't help but note after the first five or ten minutes.
But when the girls go berserk, so does the movie. The film is thereafter bathed in a garish green light. The pair put on ghoulish makeup and make gargoyle faces at themselves in the mirrors. They brain a delivery boy and then drown him to make sure. They cuss up a storm and smash windows and furniture. They have one of those scenes in which two people sit across the table from one another, licking food and then jumping each other's bones.
And Georgie? They first render Georgie unconscious with mace (which contains nothing that you can't find in that little red bottle of McIlheny's Tabasco sauce in your kitchen cabinet), tie him up, pour flour and milk all over him, subject him to a psychotic trial, put him through one of those Tolstoy-type semi-executions, slap him around, dress up in outlandish costumes, then prance out on him and his virtually destroyed upper-middle-class home, and are dispatched by a delivery van ex machina.
As for the acting, it's as if someone had told Georgie, "First act polite to these girls, then act panicked after you're tied up." And to the girls: "First act shy, unwilling to impose on anyone, then act crazy." And that's it.
The photography and location work are straight out of a 1970s porn movie. I'm not sure that suggests a total lack of skill. It takes effort and talent to turn San Francisco ugly. The score gives us two Leitmotivs. Georgie's is some pop tune with lyrics about "being free" and "giving in." Jackson and Donna's is a catchy rinky-tink thing called "My Good Old Dad."
I approve of the moral lesson behind the story, though. There are some things you should simply not give in to, even though they might look like a lot of fun at first. All very educational.