A bizarre but lousy entry in the 'Oh no, evil infant!' sub-genre that Polanski's Rosemary’s Baby (1968) popularised. Ex-stripper Joan Collins births a bruiser of a tot that she believes is possessed by evil. Her husband Gino (Ralph Bates) flaffs about like a third wheel, occasionally offering support in a spurious Italian accent. Hysterical Joan overacts, rich Ralph underwhelms, and the mini pugilist baby looks bored, accompanied by music that's anything but scary.
I don't know who to feel the most sorry for, the baby, the actors (who obviously needed a pay-cheque), the editors who had to cut all the tacky shit together, or myself for sitting through every bad minute of it.
1½ nursery crimes out of 5
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“Where we’re going, we don’t need ________”
A) Mom’s permission. B) Roads. C) Pants.