Six months ago, Jeff Coldwater’s producer asked me what he could do to make Jeff a better director. I gave him some ideas, but evidently not enough. I left off a few points that, if followed, would have spared this nightmare. To wit:

1) Never use jerry Butler if it seems obvious that he acts like he’s taken enough speed to make a brontosaurus turn handsprings. Jerry doesn’t shut up for the first 20 minutes. This includes his sex scene with the unfortunate Larraine Day, who must suffer through Jerry’s ramblings, which bring to mind either Jerry Lewis in the final stages of hydrophobia, or Ben Gazzara’s mad scene as the syphilis-stricken “Capone.”

2) Have the sex scenes connected somehow to the story. Max Wren and Jeff pick up a hitchhiking Hanaku. She and Max go at it in the back seat. Back to the story. Jeff and Trixie Tyler are in a room somewhere for some reason, and are doing the deed. Why?

3) Make sure the cast looks interested in the sex. Only the bubbly Alex Jordan and Randy Hart seem to be animated in this awful of awfuls. The rest give the impression that their cars are all double-parked, and if they can get this over with fast, they won’t get a ticket.