Arena Of The Unwell: dead dwarf.

Day 4 of 31 days of horror and I'm frankly amazed that I've not gotten bored yet.

Although you probably have.

I Don't Want to Be Born (AKA It Lives Within Her, It's Growing Inside Her, Sharon's Baby, The Baby, The Devil Within Her, The Monster 1975)
Dir: Peter Sasdy.
Cast: Joan Collins, Eileen Atkins, Ralph Bates , Donald Pleasence, Caroline Munro, George Claydon, Floella Benjamin (yes, THAT Floella Benjamin) and John Steiner.

Let's begin as we mean to go on with a sweating and screaming Joan Collins (as the - very - high class stripper Lucy Carlesi) giving birth to a huge baby boy who, obviously annoyed at having such a glamorous mum tries to scratch her eyes out when handed to her for a hug.

Joan should really have noticed something was wrong when the doctor in attendance is played by Donald (my mortgage has gone up) Pleasence.

Her husband, the rich Italian - for no discernible reason other than for Ralph Bates to try and crack the cast up with his authentic 'accent' obviously - businessman Gino Carlesi is overjoyed to have an heir and puts the babies size, strength and demonic demeanor down to his sexy Italian genes.

Lucy's having none of it tho' fearing there's something seriously wrong with her child but when she consults Dr. Finch (the aforementioned Pleasence) he tells her she's got PND and prescribes some patented happy pills.

Sorted.

Joan Collins, up the casino, Brighton, 1978.....YESCH.

So whilst Lucy spends her days either asleep, drinking, chatting to a badly dubbed yet still fragrant - I should know, I've sniffed her - Caroline Munro whilst looking increasingly shot to fuck as she stares up at the strange noises coming from the nursery, a gaggle of nannies, nurses and well wishers are systematically gouged, bitten, beheaded, stabbed or just plain murdered (to death obviously) by the tearaway tyke, who grins and gurgles sweetly after each killing.

You can tell whoever wrote this didn't have kids cos frankly that's the kind of thing that babies actually do.

I will endeavor to refrain from captioning this with "shite in mah toothless mooth", honest.I mean what do you think I am? A monster?

Gino beginning to actually believe that his wife may not have been lying about the baby decides to take matters into his own hands.

Which if I'm honest is a much more tasteful concept than him taking the baby in his mouth.

Saying that tho' it was the 70s and that kinda thing was acceptable back then.

And probably is now seeing the amount of "Age is just a number" MAP freaks that have invaded Twitter of late.

But I digress.

Bypassing the pediatric doctors, social work, the mid-wife and even NHS direct Gino instead decides to call his sister Albana (Eileen Atkins...how the fuck did they get this cast?) a local nun-about-town, for help.

Tho' why he wouldn't just ring cult noughties childcare guru and professional minx Dr. Tanya Byron I've no idea, I mean that's what I'd do.

But that's because I'm old enough to remember her hit show House of Tiny Tearaways unlike most of the readership here who are currently thinking "What the fuck is this old fart rambling about?"

Only joking obviously as no-one actually reads this blog.

Or cares.

Dr. Tanya Byron: No explanation needed.

Anyway using her divine superpowers Sister Albana deduces that the child may well be possessed by a devil.

Well it's either that or ADHD.

Tho' not Autism obviously because it didn't exist back then seeing as we all know it's caused by the MMR jag.

Or is it Paracetamol?

Too much screentime?

But I digress (again).

In relation to the plot how and why this has happened is a mystery to the parents tho'....I mean who the fuck would want to enter Joan Collins child and make them do bad things?

Unless that child was Tara Newley obviously because I love her.

Newley: Twice.

The cast stand about scratching their heads (or in Bates' case rubbing his semi-erect manhood against the coffee table) trying to think of a reason for their family traumas when suddenly (I think she must have just woken up and realised where she was) Lucy suddenly remembers a bizarre event that happened a few years before she met Gino whilst she was appearing in what looks like a community centre stage version of Moulin Rouge.

Tho' to be fair the filmmakers are desperately trying to convince us that this is a realistic 1970's London strip joint.

Working alongside a grumpy dwarf juggler cum dance star named Hercules (ex-Oompa Loompa George Clayton), Lucy would get her tits out to music whilst he tottered about on a unicycle regurgitating goldfish.

Which to me sounds a sure fire way of winning Britain's Got Talent next year.

Tho' I'm allergic to fish and my tits are frankly disappointing.

Eight thumbs up.....never touched the sides.

It appears that Herc' had a soft (well fairly hard if I'm honest) spot for Lucy and, after one particularly erotic 'Gypsy Rose Lee' inspired dance turn decided to creepily walk into her room and, without saying a word stand behind her touching Lucy's ample breasts with his sweaty sausage fingers.

Although there are a dozens of women (and men for that matter) that would love this kind of attention, Lucy it seems just isn't one of them, storming as she does out of the room and into the arms of her rat like boss Tommy (genre god John Steiner).

Feeling a wee bit left down the little fella curses Lucy and her first born before disappearing into the night (still dressed like one of Santa's helpers) in search of a Pot Noodle.

Is it in yet?

With no time to spare - the film isn't that long - it's up to Sister Albama, armed with only a crucifix and a bottle of SMA mixed with Holy Water to exorcise the child.

But time - and audience goodwill - is quickly running out.

Say what you like about the films actual fright factor but that hand baby is fucking terrifying.

Any movie with the balls to rip off the undisputed classic of paranoid motherhood Rosemary’s Baby and then have the audacity to add a sexually frustrated dwarf to the mix is worth a couple of hours of anyone's time and with I Don't Want To Be Born director Peter Sasdy (he of the bosom baring Countess Dracula and The Stone Tape fame) delivers one of the campest, trashiest movies of all time.

But whether this was intentional or not well the jury is still out.

The cast is a veritable who's who of cult stars, featuring as it does the combined acting talents of the fantastic Joan Collins (as the worlds only fully clothed stripper), Ralph (Doctor Jekyll and Sister Hyde) Bates, Donald (anything for the money) Pleasance, Euro-horror stalwart John Steiner, the lovely Caroline Munro, Play Schools Floella Benjamin and the frankly ludicrous casting the wonderful Eileen Atkins in the Max Von Sydow role.

Genius or utter madness?

I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that by far the bizarrest thing about the whole endeavor is the fact that everyone is playing it dead straight, it's almost as if they're all convinced that this is a seriously scary horror picture, a little person based British answer to The Exorcist that will change the way the audience see demonic dwarf based possession forever.

And it's for that reason alone that many (serious) horror connoisseurs put this film head and shoulders above Friedkin's attempt at supernatural terror.

Beware the binmen!

You still need convincing?

Well how many movies can you think of that feature a baby in a vile 70's frill covered pram punching out it's victims, drowning nannies and attacking all and sundry with an axe before trying to bite an actress of Ms. Collins statures nipple as she attempts to breastfeed him?

Well I'll do the maths for you.

The answer is none.

I counted twice to make sure.

And that's what makes I Don't Want To Be Born the undiscovered classic it really is, not to mention it features the greatest pervy little person since Torben Bille beat that teenage girl over the head with a stick in the opening minutes of The Sinful Dwarf.

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce: The wilderness years.

Why Bille and Claydon never teamed up on screen is a mystery that may never be answered, they could have made a road movie with the pair traveling the length and breadth of Britain in a Fiat 500L tempting hitch-hikers into the back with evermore hilarious results.

Just imagine, it'd be like Peter Kay's Car Share.

Only funny obviously.

But alas this was never to be, so let's count ourselves lucky that the pint-sized pair appeared in two such fantastic (and top quality) movies leaving a legacy that will never be matched.

Bille and Claydon we salute you.