This is an unbelievably awful movie that doesn't "spoof" anything except, apparently, the intelligence of the witless producers who poured money into it. Completely unintelligible plot centering around a strangely Swedish-accented New Jersey teenager who literally bounces from one sexual compromise to another, somehow managing to elude good acting throughout. Ewa Aulin, making her debut in this steaming pile, manages to convey that her only talent is taking her clothes off at the drop of a hat. And, since this is a '60's movie, there's a lot of hat-dropping going on (if you know what I mean). Embarrassing performances by such "luminaries" as Richard Burton, Walter Matthau, James Coburn, and Marlon Brando were obviously turned in for scale- that is, the scale the director must've used to weigh out the dope that permeates this piece of tripe. Painful cameos by Walter Huston and Sugar Ray Robinson, both of whom look like they wanted to be somewhere else, also burn themselves into my battered brain pan. The only honest performance was turned in by Buck Henry, who plays a raving mental patient- of course, since he also wrote the screenplay for this abomination, it was probably only typecasting. This movie is the poster child for 1960s moviemaking- the absolute nadir of self-involved, drug-addled excess. Not worth the celluloid it slimed onto.