Mini-budget film about a pair of young people going away for the weekend in Scotland. The lady-person is pregnant. She also sees strange ghost-like apparitions and hears creepy noises.
Bad enough, but I'd much rather deal with spectres than some mewling womb-potato. Speaking as a former child, I say with some authority that they're horrid little bastards and should be kept in a box until they're 25. Occasionally coming out for meals and daylight. A bit like a big, pink Blue Peter tortoise or something.
With such a strong paternal instinct, it may surprise you to discover I'm not a father. If I was, I wouldn't have time to watch all this old shit, or stay up to 3am on the Playstation. Which is much better than having some angry, crayon-midget, who shit themselves five times a day and then demand you buy them everything.
Fucking hell, read the above, I'm enough of a selfish, needy twat as it is, this house definitely doesn't need rapid moving mini versions of me to make it worse.
Although I suppose it could inherit my laziness and just sit there like some sort of gurgling flesh-cup waiting to have milk poured into it then being content to sleep most of the time.
So, it is decided, my theoretical child will be a soft-willed lactovore, who will develop an appreciation of crap films, Playstation games, masturbation, blended whisky, crisps and writing anti-social nonsense on a barely read blog four decades after it flops into this world.
Sounds like quite an awesome person after all.
Oh yeah, the film.
It's actually about the woman's descent into mental wobblyness rather than the demonic status of her unborn skin-nugget. It's low budget and the edges could do with sharpening, but the acting was better than expected, particularly Carina Birrell who was the troubled mum-to-be, the camera made great use of the beautiful locations and the story has a greater depth and maturity than the silly title would suggest.