Posts
Some people in this country seem to believe there is a war
being waged against Christmas just because some folks say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” As if decorating a coffee cup with non-specific, festive winter imagery rather than a Christmas tree was akin to declaring "ha ha, your religion is stupid!" Stand down, Christmas
Warriors, you’re a bit high strung.
Claiming that Christmas is under attack is like claiming there is a
movement to outlaw breakfast, it’s not happening. America is probably the most Christmasy place
on Earth, and it’s only getting Christmasier.
Forget the day after Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations are out right after Halloween. Not everyone
celebrates Christmas, but no one can escape it.
No one is fighting against it because rational people have better things
to be offended by. Saying “Merry
Christmas” holds as much weight as saying “Have a nice day.” It’s great if you mean it, but no one really
cares if you don’t.
Incidentally, no one ever whined about “season’s
greetings”. People have been saying that forever. It's just as non-specific
as Happy Holidays, and it doesn't make any sense. Are you some kind of seasonal ambassador? Winter sends its regards, and Spring is so
sorry it missed your birthday last month. But I digress.
Throwing in a few nondenominational pleasantries and inclusive decorations doesn't amount to a war, it’s barely a disagreement. If you want to see a war on Christmas, take a
look at the 1984 Santa slasher DON’T OPEN TILL CHRISTMAS to see how it’s done.
The Capsule:
Someone is bringing seriously unhappy tidings to the Santas
of London this Christmas. From seedy
Santas, to upper crust St. Nicks, this unhinged Grinch is taking them all down
in very unpleasant ways. Scotland Yard
is on the case, and Inspector Harris (Edmund Purdom) is pulling his hair out
looking for clues. Could the killer be
Cliff (Gerry Sundquist), the no account boyfriend of Kate (Belinda Mayne),
whose rich daddy got a spear to the skull when dressing up for the Christmas
party? Perhaps it’s the intense
reporter, Giles (Alan Lake), sowing seeds of distrust in The Yard? Or is the killer a cop, like Detective
Sargent Powell (Mark Jones), who matches the witness’ physical
descriptions a little too well? As the
investigation creeps along, the jolly fat corpses start to pile up. Someone is definitely going to be on Santa’s
naughty list this year, if any of them survive the season.
DON’T OPEN TILL CHRISTMAS is an odd duck. For one thing, it’s set in contemporary
London with a British cast and crew, which is unusual for this subgenre. The Britishness lends an air of class and
respectability to the production, which it absolutely does not deserve. The
movie is pure sleaze all the way with nude photo shoots, peepshows, and back
alley sex. Yet, somehow, filth seems a little more palatable when it's Piccadilly
Circus vs. Time Square. 
For a movie clearly capitalizing on the holiday themed
slasher craze, this one has the distinct vibe of an Italian giallo. The identity of the glove wearing killer is
concealed until the final act, the murders are frequently shot through the
killer’s POV, and there are ample red herrings to go around. Early American slashers, like BLACK CHRISTMAS
and the first FRIDAY THE 13th used similar elements, but this
movie’s generous helping of sleaze and sex makes it really fit the giallo
mold. 
It is the only Christmas slasher I know of where, instead of
dressing up like Santa, the killer goes after Santa. Now, you have to admit that's a cute
twist, but it leads the film’s most obvious question. If it is widely known that a killer is
exclusively targeting people wearing Santa costumes, why the holly jolly fuck
would anyone go out dressed like that?
It’s not like a Santa outfit is required attire for most people, and
even those who are being paid specifically to be Santa don’t have to walk to
work in character. It’s more
straightforward than the JAWS thing. Your safety is pretty much
guaranteed by staying out of the ocean.
This would be like going to a beach where the shark only eats men
wearing red and white striped Speedos. Do people even like dressing up as Santa? None of the dozens of Santas roaming around London appear to.
They are all either complaining about it or drunk. Seems like this would be the perfect excuse
for you to put your foot down and say, “Boss, this year I am not going to be Santa on
account of possibly getting horribly murdered.
Plus, I hate children.”
Yet, there is a non-stop parade of red suited victims. It’s funny that this came out the same year
as SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT. That movie
was heavy on the setup, leaving the short (but memorable) killing spree to the
last act. DON’T OPEN TILL CHRISTMAS hits
the ground running and does not let up until the very end. The killer runs through Santas like they were coming off a conveyor belt. These guys have such poor survival instincts that not only do they wear “murder me” suits, but most of
them are drunk. One poor Santa is
chased by angry, bike stealing punks, escapes a dog attack, and then is offed
by the Santa killer. London is a rough town for a jolly old elf.
The Santa murdering is not only numerous, but rather brutal
as well. One fellow catches a spear in
the back of the head, sending the blade poking out of his mouth (just as he
blew one of those paper party horns, which is a cute touch). A chestnut vendor has his face shoved into
the hot grill and is left there to go up like a torch. One is beaten to death with a spiked glove
and his friend gets his eye gouged out with a broken bottle. Even the simple stabbings are particularly
juicy, blood spurting as if the victims’ bellies were truly full of jelly. One poor bastard is relieving himself in the
department store bathroom when he unceremoniously gets his candy cane lobbed
off. This motherfucker HATES Santa. 
For a killer with such a specific focus, his victim
selection criteria are incredibly confusing.
For instance, when he comes across a model wearing a Santa robe (and
nothing else) for a sexy photo shoot, he lets her go unharmed. I guess he is a traditionalist, only a man
can be a real fake Santa. However, he
has no problem killing a woman in the company of a Santa. In one sequence, a drunken Santa is chased
into the London Museum of Torture, where he bumps into the lady curator. After a tense game of cat and Christmas mouse
in between the ghoulish exhibits (the movie got some extra production value by
shooting in the real museum), the Santa bumps into the corpse of the lady
curator just before being offed himself.
Going by the killer’s rules, if the Santa and the lady had just switched
outfits, they would have both survived.
Part of the reason this movie is so thoroughly insane is
because it was just as much of a mess behind the camera. Edmund Purdom, who played Inspector Harris,
agreed to be in the movie only if he could direct. Since he was the biggest name attached to the
picture (he played the dean in PIECES!), the producers agreed. Turns out that directing was not all Purdom
thought it would be, and he quit. So,
softcore director Derek Ford was brought in to replace him. And then fired two days later. Editor Ray Selfe wound up finishing it, after
Alan Birkinshaw re-wrote the script and much of the footage was reshot. I think it is safe to call it a “troubled”
production.
That chaos is obvious throughout the movie, as the story
careens all over the place. Main
characters are introduced, forgotten about for long stretches, then
unceremoniously killed off. One minute Kate suspects Inspector Harris of being the man who killed her father, the next she is flirting with him. Why is Cliff concerned the nearby beat cops are going to think he is gay for making out with a woman? Why does Caroline Monro, the leading woman from MANIAC and STARCRASH, randomly show up in a singing role?
Whole plot points
go nowhere. Scotland Yard sets up a
sting using undercover cops dressed like Santas (the Christmas equivalent to
cops in drag pretending to be prostitutes), but I can’t tell if that ever
really happened. Were all the Santas
killed from that point on supposed to be cops?
Your guess is as good as mine, even if you haven’t seen the movie. 
The ending is almost indescribable. Was it all a dream? Was only the last scene a dream? Is the killer dead or alive? Shrug.
It cuts to someone waking in a panic, and then goes directly into a
flashback. The flashback does not involve
the person having the flashback. And it
contains my all-time favorite motivation for the killer’s unquenchable
homicidal urges. [Ridiculous Spoiler] When he was a child, he
walks in on his dad having sex with some floozy…wait for it… while dressed as
Santa! Goddamn it, parents, lock your
bedroom doors! If ‘80s horror movies
teach us anything, it is that children are guaranteed to become raving sociopaths after seeing that kind of trauma.
I didn’t catch why he waited forty years or so to start his holy crusade
against Father Christmas, but I’m sure he had his reasons.I know this makes DON'T OPEN TILL CHRISTMAS sound like a bad movie, and it really, truly is a bad movie, but a thoroughly fascinating one. It's more schizophrenic than the killer. And it is the real deal. So to all the Christmas Crusaders out there, until someone is roasting your chestnuts over an open fire, shut the hell up about your War on Christmas.
C Chaka
No comments:
Post a Comment