Don't Open Till Christmas

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.

I knew from previous reviews that "Don't Open Till Christmas" would be bad, but I didn't realise just HOW bad! But perhaps that's just as well. The 'story' is so sleazy and mean-spirited that the film would be deeply nasty if it were well-made. As it is, it is just laughable.

Even on the most basic levels, "Don't Open Till Christmas" fails to work. The various murders, though gory, are suspenseless. We know nothing of the victims, we know when the killer's about to strike (so there is no surprise) and the direction is hamfisted. The giallo elements fall flat because neither we nor the police are given any clues and indeed the police investigation never really comes to a conclusion.

Parts of the film simply don't make any sense. The timeframe is all to hell, for one thing. Early on, a newspaper headline reads "Only three killing days left to Christmas", but then four or five days pass and we're only at Christmas Eve! Lines like "Is there a pattern here?", after 3 Santas have been gorily dispatched, beggar belief. It also seems unlikely that people would still be happily wandering around London in Santa costumes if a psychopathic Claus-slayer WERE on the loose!

The direction is inept, the dialogue ludicrous and the acting desperately flat. And why does Mark Jones, as one of the police investigators, dress like a Twenties matinee idol? Perhaps his flamboyant costumes are an effort by the makers to disguise attention from the threadbare sets!

Nevertheless, "Don't Open Till Christmas" does have a certain historical interest as the very last gasp of the low-budget British horror film. The involvement of Derek Ford gives it a tenuous link to the gory glory days of Compton and Tigon. And it's amazing to think that it was made in 1984, the time when Goldcrest were at their height. What a contrast between such genteel efforts as "Chariots of Fire" and "The Dresser" and this sadistic little affair!

This movie is pretty lame, but not unwatchable. The acting is cheesy and the killing scenes are ultra cheese, but I did like the killer, his face (mask) was cool and when he talked to the girl he chained up his voice was great. It was an interesting concept but the makers didn't maake it solid enougth, a lot of loose ends, and holes in the plot. The story is Somebody with very little Christmas spirit is killing anyone in a Santa suit one London holiday season, and Scotland Yard has to stop him before he makes his exploits an annual tradition. It's a very cheesy flick, special effects arn't great but a good watch if you like 80's slashers.

It's refreshing to know that Americans aren't the only ones who can turn out crappy slasher movies. The same British team that did this one also made one of the more idiotic American slasher movies of the 1980's ("Slaughter High"), but here they abandon the stateside setting and the faux American accents to embrace their inherent Britishness while still making a movie that is every bit as inept and pathetic as their "American" effort.

In the seedier parts of London a mad killer is slashing men dressed as Santa Clause. Why? Believe me, you don't want to know, but never has there been a greater collection of drunken, lecherous reprobates than the Santa victims in this movie (Don't they screen their prospective Santa Claus candidates in London?). Between the drunks, potential child molesters, and garden-variety creeps, there isn't a unworthy victim among them. And if there is a mad Santa killer on the loose, why do they all insist on going everywhere dressed in their Santa duds? One sap even wears his costume into a peep show where (in a scene that, I think, is meant to be funny) he tells the stripper that he's not "the real one." Then there is nude fashion model who takes a guy out in the alley for a quickie dressed only in a Santa coat, and of course, meets the killer who luridly runs his knife down her nude body. (I'd complain about the gratuitous misogyny here, but it's one of the best scenes in the movie). On the gore side, we have an grossly overweight pervert Santa who is castrated in a urinal (a metaphor for the movie as a whole perhaps?)

Aside from the aforementioned gore and crumpet, this movie is mostly just boring. I'd term it as a London-based X-mas version of "The New York Ripper", but it's much more dull than tasteless. The only good thing I can say about it is I don't regret having watched it (mostly because it came as part of a dirt cheap 50-movie DVD compilation I recently bought). Don't go too far out of your way for this one though.

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.