Straightforward and shameless to the point of absurdity, Cindy and Donna, Robert Anderson's salacious ode to youthful indiscretion, is heterosexual catnip for the unloved soul. Infecting all those who dare gaze upon its fleshy surface with an intense desire to rub up against anything with a pulse, the film, with what has to be one of the bluntest mission statements ever, saturates its peachy keen canvass with enough unapologetic nudity, experimental lesbianism, succulent thigh bruises (I would lick the thigh bruises I saw in this until the cows came home), nonchalant incest, recreational drug use, back dimples, coming of age groping, and couch-based heavy petting to last a relatively short and rather unexciting lifetime. An authentic look into the swinging sexual awaking of a couple sisters living right smack dab in the middle of the liberated age of low-priced copulation, herbal cigarettes, fabric-challenged miniskirts, and unclothed lady legs, this sordid tale about a shy redhead's struggle to come to grips with her sprouting womanly wants and needs will leave you breathless. A voyeur at heart, Cindy (a leggy Debbie Osbourne) watches her slightly older sister Donna (a leggy Nancy Ison) fornicate and fraternize with boys on a nightly basis. Acquiring knowledge from afar, however, has its limits. In addition, observing her sister and father exchange naughty touches is corrupting her fertile young mind, not illuminating it.
The carnal expertise of a lithesome classmate, Karen (a leggy Cheryl Powell), is sought instead.
This plan doesn't work out either, as the two hook with a couple of random guys at the beach. A hesitant Cindy finds the constant pawing to be more annoying than pleasurable, and leaves her gentlemen caller sans ejaculation. The gung-ho Karen, on the other hand, straddles her fella with a professional grace.
During some downtime, Karen and Cindy smoke some weed, listen to the popular music of the day, and explore each others bodies for hidden delights. This flirtation with lesbianism must have aroused Cindy, because the next morning she finds herself craving a resilient cock.
While all this self-discovery is going on, Donna is cavorting with a couple of horny photographers, Cindy and Donna's mother (a leggy Sue Allen) is striking out at the local watering hole, and their father is pining over Alice, a stripper/model/prostitute with ample, gravity-defying breasts and an ass to die for.
Unfortunately, the name of the actress who plays Alice is unknown to me at the moment. Update: The name of the actress who plays the stripper/model/prostitute is apparently Alice Fredlund, which is good to know, because her innate gorgeousness needs to be properly recognized by the titillation community.
Anyway, while that may seem like a lot of plot, Cindy and Donna is actually quite threadbare when it comes to narrative elasticity. The only reason I can think of as to why this film exists, is to satisfy the rational cravings of those who like to dance to a perverted beat.
Any enlightenment extracted from this film has to be purely accidental. Starkly put, this film is about nudity, female nudity.
Taking place during a time when the word "groovy" was uttered in a non-ironic way and unprotected intercourse grew on trees, the anti-intellectual film is a glorious tribute to the female form circa 1970.
Either the nonexistent hemlines of the era just happened to be at their shortest in human history, or director Robert Anderson (The Young Graduates) has the levelheaded leg fixation to end all levelheaded leg fixations.
No fooling, the amount of naked leg skin in this flick blew my mind. For some strange reason, I tried to ignore it and act like it wasn't there. However, I failed to do this at every turn. The combination of skimpy late sixties-style outfits and the depraved lounging of the titular girls destroyed any semblance of dignity I was attempting to prop up and communicate outwardly.
The acting in the Cindy and Donna is not even worth mentioning, as none of the characters are really given an opportunity to engage in a normal conversation. Though, I have to say, Sue Allen (whose thigh bruise were to die for) does come the closest to depicting an actual person at times as the girls' always drunk mother. Despite her intoxication, she says all her lines in clear and intelligible manner. Whereas, the rest seem to mumble there way through the picture. Of course, I didn't mind this acting incompetency, because like I said, this film is all about leggy babes behaving badly. Pure and simple.
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