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"Another Santa is slain," is the quote one person says early in this movie and that about sums it up for the outline. Set in London, England during the Christmas holiday season, someone killer is going around killing anyone dressed as Father Christmas, while two astonishingly stupid Scotland Yard detectives track him down and dither. Most of the abundant splatter is nothing new here as we see one Santa after another get either shot, stabbed, speared, burned, cleaverd, electriuted and even castrasted. Gore and splatter fans will not be disappointed. But here the victims are not the sympathetic bunch as every Santa victim is either a derelict, drunkard, drug user, or loser we most wish the killer would get. Edumond Purdom who directs and stars as the lead detective, Inspector Harris, who's in charge of investigating the murders, serves up some potential suspense and a fair amount of black humor, but the script plays it very straight.

As for the rest of the plot, although we know that Inspector Harris is not the killer, he appears to know a lot more of what's going on with the killings than the other characters, one of whom is a woman who wants the killer brought to justice since her own father was one of the many victims. The rest of the movie is not as amusing as it sounds, but one can't completely dismiss a horror film like this that piles up more victims than a room full of attorneys. Pop star Caroline Munro even makes a musical cameo appearance as herself during one of the stalking/killings which adds a fairly nice touch to such nonsense.

Contents: 14 killings; lots of messy looking corpses; a masked psycho; costumed victims; slight suspense; mediocre mystery; not bad as usual. With Pat Astley as the model who keeps removing her top.

Now this is what I'm talking about! I love an unabashedly terrible slasher film that revels in its own sleaziness and stupidity. From the crappy synth score to the iffy performances, I was eating Don't Open 'Til Christmas up by the shovelful. I'm not even going to begin explaining the plot -- why should the plot even matter when drunk shopping mall Santa Clauses are getting their faces burned off, eyes slashed out, and penises castrated (YES!) all around you?!

I'd never recommend this to anyone who isn't into true bottom-of-the-barrel stuff like myself, but sludge lovers will want their grimy stockings stuffed with this filthy British exploit. Let me put it this way: if you liked Pieces, you'll also dig this film (which kind of makes sense, since some of the people from Pieces worked on this). Sure, Don't Open 'Til Christmas lacks the acting chops of the Georges (that's Christopher and Lynda Day to you), but it's slightly more enjoyable in the sense that it isn't quite as misogynistic as Pieces (i.e., most of the victims in this one are male). Skeezemeister Edmund Purdom (I find him inexplicably unsettling in a creepy uncle sort of way), who was one of the headliners in Pieces, claims this gem as his one and only directing credit.

My review was written in December 1984 after a Times Square screening.

"Don't Open Till Christmas" is a poorly made horror picture about a nut killing various Father Christmases (the British version of Santa Claus). Filmed a year ago in London by Rome-based producer Dick Randalll and Massachusetts exhibitor Steve Minasian (latter one of the backers of Paramount's hit "Friday the 13th" film series), pic serves as a tawdry star vehicle for vet British character actor Edmund Purdom, who also directed.

Sad postscript here is that the maniacal killer is played by Alan Lake, who committed suicide several months ago, reportedly despondent following the detath of his wife, Diana Dors. His sinister thesping in the final reels is the only thing that perks up this dull cheapie.

Purdom portrays Chief Inspector Harris, a harried Scotland Yard detective assigned to track down the nut who is killing Santas all over London. He ultimately is taken off the case for lack of results, replaced by his assistant Sgt. Powell (Mark Jones), who likes to wear a raffish hat and otherwise seems to be auditioning for the lead role in the tv show "Dr. Who".

Chief suspects, besides Purdom himself, include Giles (Lake), who pops in and out as an odd-looking newspaper reporter, and Cliff (Gerry Sundquist), present at several of the Santa attacks including one that murders the father of his girlfriend Kate (Belinda Mayne). Episodic presentation has a few okay twists until revelation that the maniac was traumatized as a boy at Christmastime.

Poorly scripted by British action and porno filmmaker Derek Ford, "Don't" is in slightly better taste than the recently notorious U. S. pic "Silent Night, Deadly Night". Its chief offenses include portraying numerous London Father Christmases as drunks plus a scene of one of them getting emasculated while relieving himself in a public restroom. To helmle Purdom's credit, a genre switcheroo has the iterated bloodletting directe at men, with vulnerable women only in danger as witnesses to the psycho's crimes.

Tech credits are ultra-cheap, with lots of shooting via available light and real-life extras ogling the camera on location. The beauteous British horror and fantasy film star Caroline Munro puts in a cameo appearance performing a rock song and dance number.

The only movie directed by 1950s Hollywood costume hunk turned Euro-exploitation regular Edmund Purdom (at least partly--someone else is credited with directing "additional scenes," probably including the nudity inserts) is a typical 1980s slasher involving disco, sexually active youth, and crudely done gory deaths.

I saw it in a budget packet of "Drive-In Movie Classics" that clearly used a 3rd-generation VHS dupe--so I can't fairly judge the film's visual presentation, which seems professional enough. It's odd that at age 60 Purdom suddenly decided to try directing, let alone on such an obviously cheesy project.

This being a British film, the performances are competent despite the script's utterly shallow depths--no doubt everyone was conservatory-trained. At times the film feels jumpy, as if scenes (or just violent bits) were coarsely edited out. Even so, one murdered Santa is garroted, then thrust face-first onto a sausage grill. It's a Brit giallo that's not all bad, or as utterly formulaic as many slashers from the era, but it sure isn't inspired.

A terrible movie on many levels. The plot is absolutely ridiculous and outlandish. The acting mediocre at best. The premise involves people that dawn Santa costumes during the holidays being unceremoniously killed one by one. Therein lies the problem; lack of ceremony. A slasher movie without ceremony is like a romance film without a kiss. Santa after Santa is killed. However, we don't know who they are, we don't care, and suspense doesn't fit anywhere is this poorly constructed equation. The murders themselves are not doted on and lack any imagination whatsoever. Going back to the story line, logic is totally thrown out the window at every misstep. With an entire city under a terrifying siege, why on earth do people continuing to put on these ridiculous costumes, only to seemingly wander right into the hands of the killer? Had this been handled by a competent writer and director, not to mention the addition of a budget, any budget, there's actually potential to this very anemic holiday horror.