Plot of this somewhat engaging loincloth romp: girl beats boy, boy beats girl, enlightenment, happy ever after. And if you can't follow the plot, don't worry, because the Worst Narrator of All Time will be happy to spell it out for you.
After her mother is clubbed one time too many by her caveman domestic abuser, Tigri and her gal pals take to the jungle with their pet panther and "the Wise One" (an irritating old crone). There they mature into leggy swimsuit models and "dance restlessly" "without knowing why", although we know why, and it has something to do with Loincloth Boy and his rugged pals, with whom and their ilk the lonesome doves have had nothing to do these many moons.
There is some marginally amusing reversal-of-sexes stuff as the gals club the caveboys into submission, but the tables are soon turned. Before we get too far into male dominance a visit from a pelican/ugly puppet, followed by a giant, nicely resolves our conflict.
The outstandingly Bad aspect of this otherwise modestly bad film is the narration. The dialog is spoken entirely in Cave-ese, which we moderns of course do not understand, so a helpful narrator is along to fill us in. Unfortunately in addition to translating the dialog the narrator insists on telling us WHAT WE HAVE JUST SEEN, EACH AND EVERY TIME, so that the entire movie consists of the viewer watching things like: the girls gesture at the guys to pick up a dead panther, whereupon the narrator solemnly intones in his best pear-shaped tones: "and the women force the men to carry the panther back to their jungle home", which of course is WHAT WE WERE JUST LOOKING AT. Since the narrator continues to state the bleeding obvious throughout the entire flick from beginning to end, it draws the viewer out of the story and into an "I can't believe how stupid this is" state of mind.
However there are people who take pleasure in doing exactly this, and for such people this is an under-appreciated candidate for Worst Film of All Time lists. I recommend it highly.
After her mother is clubbed one time too many by her caveman domestic abuser, Tigri and her gal pals take to the jungle with their pet panther and "the Wise One" (an irritating old crone). There they mature into leggy swimsuit models and "dance restlessly" "without knowing why", although we know why, and it has something to do with Loincloth Boy and his rugged pals, with whom and their ilk the lonesome doves have had nothing to do these many moons.
There is some marginally amusing reversal-of-sexes stuff as the gals club the caveboys into submission, but the tables are soon turned. Before we get too far into male dominance a visit from a pelican/ugly puppet, followed by a giant, nicely resolves our conflict.
The outstandingly Bad aspect of this otherwise modestly bad film is the narration. The dialog is spoken entirely in Cave-ese, which we moderns of course do not understand, so a helpful narrator is along to fill us in. Unfortunately in addition to translating the dialog the narrator insists on telling us WHAT WE HAVE JUST SEEN, EACH AND EVERY TIME, so that the entire movie consists of the viewer watching things like: the girls gesture at the guys to pick up a dead panther, whereupon the narrator solemnly intones in his best pear-shaped tones: "and the women force the men to carry the panther back to their jungle home", which of course is WHAT WE WERE JUST LOOKING AT. Since the narrator continues to state the bleeding obvious throughout the entire flick from beginning to end, it draws the viewer out of the story and into an "I can't believe how stupid this is" state of mind.
However there are people who take pleasure in doing exactly this, and for such people this is an under-appreciated candidate for Worst Film of All Time lists. I recommend it highly.