DON’T OPEN ‘TIL CHRISTMAS (1984) Directed by Edmund Purdom
Vestron VHS
THE FILM
I’m trying really hard to stand up. Really, I am. But a street cleaner just made the rounds and delicate snow is beginning to fall, ever so slightly. It’s nice and cozy out here on the curb; the stars above, the poop water below. I guess the old saying is true. Once you lie down in the gutter, it’s hard to get up.
Take my raunchy, UK-lensed friend here, for instance. Goes by the name of Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas. Going in, you’d expect a film that centers around a Santa-slaying slasher to contain a certain level of...how do I say it...hysterical putridity? By the time you realize just how low this bumbling film can get, it’s too late. You’re forced to grab a hitch on Santa’s soot-covered sleigh and witness a waterfall of literal dirtiness, far beyond the confines of the everyday slasher. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s quite hilarious.
No plot reiteration, let’s cut to the chase. Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas is a weird mess of bad editing and anticlimactic, yet alarming, kill scenes. It exists for no good reason, other than to demonstrate how engaging a total piece of garbage can be. The story centers around a crazy-eyed killer who has a hankering for creatively disposing of Santa Claus-clad people. There are a few policemen running around and a weak attempt at developing “leads.” Interspersed between large continuity errors and inappropriate camera shakes are what seems like twenty to thirty kill scenes. This sucker cuts right to it and doesn’t let up, as our Kris Kringles are snuffed out by a variety of inventive methods: sword in the back of the head and out through the mouth, knife-boot to the groin, face to the roasted chestnuts, a face-melt that I couldn’t figure out, and the piece de resistance, castration while urinating. That’s right. There’s also an extended bit of leering nudity, a peep show killing, and a scene that unveils mommy and Santa Claus engaging in much more than kissing. Par for the 80s course, we even get a new wave disco performance from some hack-job bar band (featuring Hammer actress Caroline Munro as its lead singer). But don’t worry. Everything is “explained” in a rushed, downbeat, and blathering ending.
Here’s where the guffaws come in. If Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas was effectively presented on ANY technical level, it would stand as a pretty disturbing film, based on mean-spiritedness alone. Lucky for us, that’s not the case. Witness dubbed lines that appear without mouth movement. Cringe at the cheese-spook score, popping up every five seconds, regardless of what’s transpiring onscreen. Scratch your head at the bicycle riding Santa, fumbling around some kind of wax museum in a drunken stupor for nearly ten minutes. Bleed your eyes at the same Scotland Yard establishing shot, utilized close to ten times throughout the film. Stand amazed at the incredible cheapness (read: scary) of the Santa Claus costumes. There’s oh so much more, but some of the gifts must remain unwrapped.
Oh, and before you ask...no, the British accents do not add an air of sophistication to the proceedings.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
After tracking down a rental copy at my favorite authentic ma and pa video store, I was a little worried. The grease was prominent. Luckily, my VCR made it out alive and so did the very-watched tape. The picture was murky and the mono sound was hissed to the max.
EXTRAS
Vestron delivers the analog coal. Eventhough I was super nice this year.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Filthy! Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas is not a good time romp that you’ll want to revisit. However, there’s no way you can go without seeing this film. Preeminent gutter garbage, perfect for the holidays. Grandma Ruth will love it.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 12.22.04 | 
He's all business
Conjugal peep show
And the band plays on
Urinal embarassment
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