The Young Graduates (Robert Anderson, 1971)

The amount of brain energy I expended while staring at The Young Graduates, Robert Anderson's groovy followup to the equally groovy Cindy and Donna, is nothing to brag about (not that I would brag about such things). But the lessons I learned while watching it were invaluable. The lesson that immediately comes to mind is the one about how to stop lustful hillbillies from chasing you along a dirt road: simply drive across a field. No, really, their trucks aren't equipped to drive on plowed earth, and, therefore, will not be able to sexually assault you or the members of your party. However, since that little nugget of rape preventing wisdom doesn't involve explicit descriptions of Patricia Wymer's acute adorableness; I'm gonna quickly move on to other, more sexier, pastures. A mere day removed from being underage, high school senior Melinda "Mindy" Evans (Patricia Wymer) has suddenly grown tired of making out with her drag racer boyfriend Bill (Gary Rist), and decides to seek out the mature embrace of Mr. Thompson (Tom Stewart), a well-liked teacher at Mindy's school. The initial wooing is mainly initiated by the overly flirtatious Mindy, as she bats her eyelashes, uses come hither body language, and pretends to be interested in his dumb ass photography like nobodies business. On the other hand, Mr. Thompson is a tad slow in terms of reciprocating the youthful scamps playful coquetry. This, however, all changes when his shrewish wife, Gretchen (Jennifer Ritt), refuses to provoke his penis in a gratifying manner for what seems like the millionth night in a row.

Desperate to fornicate with a nimble vagina, the temporarily unfettered teacher excepts the wide-eyed teen's offer and the two of them end up frolicking and fucking until the contents of their chest cavities are content.

Aggressively simplistic at times, The Young Graduates doesn't seem interested in anything whatsoever. After the relationship between the spunky teen and the listless teacher fizzles out, the film goes into weird road trip mode. Where we get to see first hand how aimless and spontaneous the character of Mindy really is.

All of you have to do is look at the casual way she dumps Bill's yellow dune buggy in the middle of the road when it runs out of gas to understand where her flighty head is at. She, along with her gal pal Sandy (Marely Holiday), and a hitchhiker named Pan (Dennis Christopher), decide to go Big Sur.

Of course, their journey is rife with surly bikers, braindead hicks, and a seemingly unending armada of unfriendly drug dealers.

Crisp exchanges of elemental dialogue followed by gorgeously filmed montages set to nonspecific hippie rock is the best way the describe the artistic temperament of this peachy enterprise.

The best example of this stylistic posture are the scenes that involve Mindy and Mr. Thompson exploring the beauty of their natural surroundings, as they make their way to an unsullied stream in the woods for some impromptu naked wading.

Another example can be found when Mindy and Sandy acquirer a motorcycle and we are treated to some lovely shots of rural America. The image of a pink-clad Patricia Wymer riding on the back of a hog was the film's defining moment, as it not only represented her capricious and highly adaptive personality, but also signified her belief in absolute freedom (she despises conformity and outmoded thought patterns).

It's a shame that this and The Babysitter were her only roles of note, because Patricia Wymer has a real infectious quality about her as the forthright Mindy. It's quite telling that all the other characters gravitate towards her. And I'm not all surprised, as she out-and-out radiates while on-screen.

The way she chirpily utters her no-nonsense dialogue while smiling seductively is no match for the men who populate the unsophisticated world of The Young Graduates. Well, a pre-Godfather Bruno Kirby seemed to be the only person not enamoured by her. But then again, his character was banging the curly haired Sandy, who was kinda foxy in her own right.

Anyway, I thought Patricia, on top of being coy and junk, displayed a subtle form of legginess in this film. Now I don't know how exactly one goes about being subtly leggy. But the scenes that feature the tiny actress getting in and out of dune buggies in slinky pink dresses and engaging in late night telephone chats with married teachers had a definite air about them that just screamed subtle and leggy. Trust me, I know.

...

The Babysitter (Don Henderson, 1969)

She may look shy and innocent. But don't be fooled, this is one babysitter you don't want to mess with. An extremely perverted premise that is handled, and fondled slightly with the docile guardianship of a reluctant serial subway groper, the aptly named The Babysitter is a tender and surprisingly gritty tale about forbidden lust, marital stress, personal freedom, and biker-based blackmail. Pulling no punches when it came to portraying the generational divide that existed at the time between the taco-eating hippie youth and their more conservative, bridge-playing parents, the film directed by Don Henderson is an out of sight quick fix for those suffering from the mid-life crisis blues. Nagged to the point where his man-sack has gone on permanent vacation, fancy prosecuting lawyer George Maxwell (the workmanlike George E. Carey) is having marital trouble. His wife Edith (a wonderfully shrill Anne Bellamy) is always insisting they go out and socialize with her lame ass friends, while all he wants to do is stay home and repeatedly prod her sloppy vagina with his ten pound penis. On shaky ground to begin with, their estranged routine is forcibly turned upside down when the supple legs of their vivacious babysitter skip playfully through their front door.

Attached to these fleshy sex sticks is the rambunctious Candy Wilson (Patricia Wymer), a sweet morsel just waiting to be defiled. Actually, it's not as unseemly as it sounds. I mean, Candy isn't childlike at all. In fact, she's so full of gumption, that she invites a rock band (complete with naked go-go dancers) over to play the Maxwell's basement while there away for the evening. I know, talk about a groovy chick. Anyway, while it may seem like Candy and George are flirting with one another during the car ride home, it's actually the youthful dumpling in the mini-skirt who makes all the moves (George is literally putty in her hands). Her impromptu taco eating seminar, by the way, was an excellent metaphor for the bane of improperly executed cunnilingus during the post-war era.

Complicating matters is Julie Freeman (Kathy Williams), the "old lady" of a biker accused of murder. Luckily for her, Julie is friends with George's no-nonsense lesbian daughter, Joan (Sheri Jackson), and plans on taking photographs of Joan licking and caressing her alluring girlfriend (Ruth Noonan) pool side. You see, George is prosecuting Julie's biker beau and wants to blackmail him with the salacious photos. Of course, with the middle-aged lawyer now cavorting with the babysitter, compromising pictures of closeted lesbians won't be necessary (or possible - the blurry glass of the sauna door impeded her attempts to get any pictures of them together), as the scurrilous Kathy sets her sights on George and Candy.

Now, the whole babysitter being intimate with her much older employer is one of the most well-worn stories around (there wouldn't be modern pornography without it, so I've been told). However, whereas as most babysitter plots are more creepy than they are titillating, there's a real playfulness to The Babysitter. Boasting coltish montages that involve light petting and small-scale nudity, the film isn't about cheap erections and unearned provocation. It's just about two people who dig one another from different sides of the counterculture, and I can't be against that, no matter how hard I try.

Reminding me of Drew Barrymore circa Poison Ivy mixed with the wide-eyed innocence of Melanie Hutsell circa how the fuck should I know, Patricia Wymer (The Young Graduates) imbues her mischievous babysitter with enough moxie to destroy the synapses of a thousand deviants (I bet she could do this with just a single look). Extolling the virtues of personal freedom and demanding the most out of life, Candy is the expected voice of her time.

...