It's a Wonderful Knife

Don't Open Till Christmas (Edmund Purdom, 1984)

There are winners and losers in all aspects of life and when it comes to eighties slashers, Don't Open Till Christmas (1984) is unquestionably the last kid to be picked for the team. However, there's a discrete charm of the non-bourgeoisie to this grubby and sleazy, Brit nasty, which is, believe it or not, even less refined than Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984), making it a traditional festive staple at the Dada Debaser humble abode. Objectively a terrible film, but one that always calls to me around this time of year.

Co-produced by the larger than life American film producer, Dick Randall; better known as the man responsible for the deluge of Bruce Lee rip-off films in the wake of the martial arts star's death, and a string of seventies sexploitation films, Randall was no stranger to dipping his toes into popular film trends. The slasher was the next big thing after the success of  John Carpenter's Halloween (1978) and Randall would contribute to this subgenre with three personal favourites of mine: the giallo-esque campus based slasher, Pieces (1982); the British yule log, Don't Open Till Christmas (1984); and the second best fake-American slasher, Slaughter High (1986) after Michele Soavi's classic Stagefright (1987) of course. Don't Open Till Christmas would pose as an intersection of sorts as some cast members from Randall's other two slashers would also wind up here.

Directed by and starring Brit thespian, Edmund Purdom, Don't Open Till Christmas was destined for failure once he strayed away from the original screenplay and shot scenes which were superfluous to the film, e.g. a bizarre romantic subplot involving Purdom's older Inspector Harris and the film's younger "leading lady", Kate (Belinda Mayne). Conflicting sources claim Purdom had either quit or was fired from his directorial debut. The film's writer Derek Ford took over the director's chair, but didn't have much time to get too comfortable as he was fired after just two days. Languishing in limbo, the film ushered Ray Selfe and Alan Birkinshaw as the new director and writer team to sort the film out once and for all. Considering Birkinshaw gave the world Killer's Moon (1978), a scuzzy film where a bunch of psychopaths high on LSD, who rape and kill a bunch of stranded school girls whilst ripping off Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (1971) in the process, it's fair to say Don't Open Till Christmas went from out of the frying pan and into the fire. With the numerous faults which plagued the film the writing is unquestionably one of its biggest problems. If Birkinshaw's additional material was meant to correct previous issues, then I dread to think what kind of foul state the original iteration of the film was like. There are characters introduced who are either completely forgotten or crudely written out by the it limps its way to the end titles. New characters were introduced by Birkinshaw, one of which was a replacement final girl, this time a sex worker played by Kelly Baker from Slaughter High (1986),  who turned up around the halfway mark, making the film feel all the more hotchpotch.

Purdom wasn't the only recognisable actor to appear in this film, Kevin Lloyd, better known as D.C. "Tosh" Lines from the cop show The Bill (1984-2010) appears in it in a supporting role as Gerry, a sleazy and tactless photographer. Queen of Fantasy, Caroline Munro makes a brief appearance playing herself, performing a song number while literally being upstaged by the latest victim. Birkinshaw introduced the character of Giles, a creepy journalist played by Alan Lake; an actor who was married to the British cult icon, Diana Dors, along with appearing in several sexploitation films from the seventies. Still mourning over the loss of  his wife, he tragically took his own life with a shotgun on the day of Diana Dors' birthday.

With all that doom and gloom out of the way, it's worth addressing there are some notable postives about Don't Open Till Christmas; the fact that the killer creatively offs drunk and pervy men dressed as Father Christmas (not everytime, though) is both hilarious and kind of refreshing from all the usual teen slaughter synonymous with the slasher subgenre. One poor fella ends up being castrated while taking a leak in a public toilet; another reason in avoiding them. Also, what I personally find appealing about the film is how much of a time capsule it is as it perfectly encapsulates early eighties London and out-dated social attitudes. One scene that never fails to have me laughing is where a glamour model in a Santa robe is locked outside a photo studio with the boyfriend of the film's orginal final girl. While she makes advances on him, he spots two patrolling police officers and utters, "uh oh, here they come. They'll think we're a couple of gays". Product of its time, of course, but a hilarious line, regardless. All these factors help the film exude a cheap and tatty dinginess, making the film feel bizarrely endearing.

Always found the popularity of Christmas-themed horror films strangely puzzling; with the exception of the more apt Halloween festivities, I would have thought an occasion like St. Valentine's Day and the whole psycho-lover theme would have spawned way more slasher entries than Christmas. Still, it has birthed yuletide crackers like ...And All Through the House featured in the Tales from the Crypt (1972) and of course, Black Christmas (1974). Don't Open Till Christmas is an obvious turkey in comparison to them, but an endearing one.

Recently upgraded my old Mondo Macabro DVD of the film with Vinegar Syndrome's superb blu-ray. They're the boutique label equivalent of Paxo since the film is stuffed with a glorious HD remaster, a night's worth of bonus features, and one of those rare times where even I was awestruck by its beautiful packaging. How bonkers is it that a crudely made, semi-obscure, sleazy slasher from yesteryear receives more loving attention by an independent distributor than many of today's pop cultural films?