Don't bother with this dated, witless, would-be satire of California culture. A group of unpleasant characters sleepwalk through a series of stunt-driven comic set pieces (cars on fire, falling out of airplanes, houses sliding down cliffs), and after displaying the crassness and materialism that director Alexander MacKendrick appears to be lampooning, all is forgiven with an unbelievable happy ending that will leave most viewers groaning. Tony Curtis is amoral and underhanded in the central role, a conniving drifter who blackmails his way into a lucrative sales position. Doomed starlet Sharon Tate makes her entrance with a full-screen shot of her bikini-clad bottom, and the camera ogles her shamelessly for the rest of the film as she jumps on trampolines and wraps herself coyly in bed sheets. She's a bubbleheaded skydiver named Malibu, but barely registers as a character, whispering her lines with the blankest of expressions. Only Malibu and her good-natured weightlifter beau (David Draper, who can't act either) are likable characters, and that's only because they're too dimwitted to recognize the ignoble behavior of their cast mates. Even the hackneyed theme song from rock legends the Byrds is almost mocking in its insipidness, as if tossed off for quick cash. Don't Make Waves has nothing to say about "the good life" of southern California, and doesn't even generate laughs in lieu of insight.