One could, if one wanted to, read this whole film as a reactionary parable to the free love of the 1960s. But I would never do that. In fact, the best thing to do is not think about this movie too much as you watch it — the turnabouts in this film are waaaay too predictable. Still, fun. Best aspects are Jessica Walter who, the shreiking nutjob, who you really want to bang on the head with a hammer. Terrific, absurd performance. Also, Clint’s house. It was on a rock over the ocean (you could hear the waves), yet it was also in the woods. And it was all made of glass and open. Ann & I couldn’t quite figure it out, but we were both kinda jealous. How does an overnight dj afford such a place?