The Wild Women of Wongo

Once in a generation, a movie comes along that is so inspiring, so amazing that one can do little but tremble with awe at the power and mastery of the film-makers.... okay, okay, you caught me. I can't type this and keep a straight face.
The plot concerns two tribes of cave people and it is drivel.
Actually, it is not even worthy of Drivel. This gives Drivel a bad name. This is so far beneath Drivel that this movie could be in the fifth circle of hell and Drivel would be beyond St. Peter's gates. Compared to this film, Drivel is an unattainable Shangri-La. If I was Drivel's lawyer, I'd consider legal action should anyone compare this film to it.
This film is not worthy enough to be Drivel's lick spittle.
This film is ten sub-basements below Stupid and Senseless. It gazes longingly up at Moronic. It dreams one day of being worthy enough to eat the crumbs at Inept's table, or of sniffing Contemptable's behind.
It is Awful. And then some.
Though shot in colour, this is not a good looking film. There's lots of shadows and the actors spend much of their time in them obscuring their faces. This may be an artifact of a very poor film print and master, or maybe they were too embarrassed to show their faces on camera.
This 1958 film was the only film produced and directed by James L. Wolcott, and the only film written by Cedric Rutherford. The script is putrid and the acting worse. In fact, only one cast member ever made another film, and for most of those involved in the production, this is the only film they ever made. How they convinced a studio to not only shoot this film, but to shoot it in colour must be a story for for the ages. Clearly some sort of incriminating photos of somebody important at the studio with a garden gnome in a latex outfit and three midgets smeared with jam jelly must have fallen into the wrong hands for this to get greenlighted.