Mamie Van Doren in as little clothes as possible is the main point of this clumsy independent comedy. Its best jokes are older than vaudeville and its worst jokes kill off brain cells that you’ll never get back. Whenever the movie needs a dose of excitement—which it does often—they just send in Mamie in a bikini or in a low-cut dress or, most memorably, have her lounge nude in a jacuzzi with only a (very) transparent layer of water keeping the drive-in respectable. She’s a stripper and all-around headcase who rooms with an alcoholic car salesman and a gay pretty boy whose inclinations are explained, in true 1964 fashion, as the result of excessive vanity. They hire an out-of-work actor (Tommy Noonan, who also directs) to live with them and listen to their problems so he can stand in for all of three of them at one time at their psychiatrist’s office. This is so they can save money by rolling their therapy needs into ONE bill for analysis rather than three. Yep, that’s the plot. Forget about it and just look at Mamie, I say. Tommy Noonan even switches this black-and-white film to color when she has a big scene.