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.

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.

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!

A very British entry into the 1980's slasher cannon. It feels as if the EastEnders writers thought that they'd give jumping on the slasher bandwagon a go, but lacking any real insight into the genre they get it a bit wrong at most turns!

Lacking the perkiness of most of its American cousins and the style of the Italian gialli, the film is nevertheless more aligned to the giallo in terms of structure and plot, police procedural action and a whodunit angle with numerous characters.

It gets pluses for the mask, a variety of amusing kills, the London Dungeon scene and the sheer curiosity factor given that UK slashers of this era are relatively rare. There is a bargain basement TV actors look and feel throughout, like a fairly straight BBC version of a slasher film. London looks suitably gross, seedy and grotty. A few off the wall moments keep it fairly enjoyable and worth a look for fans of sleazy, cult, obscure trash.