I love Christmas horror. Every December I revisit several favorites. If I don’t, the holiday season just doesn’t feel quite as jolly! Bob Clark’s classic Black Christmas (1974) is not only my favorite Yuletide horror movie, but also quite possibly my favorite horror movie of all time. I like to discover new films, or new, old films, as well. Last December I watched what is now a new, old Christmas movie to add to my annual holiday watchlist. And what a doozy it is!
The most succinct way I can think to describe the bizarre British slasher Don’t Open till Christmas (1984) is to imagine if Pieces and The New York Ripper had a baby born on Christmas. This movie is that baby. I never use the phrase “So bad it’s good” but I can see why some would use it in reference to this movie.
The story of a mysterious killer murdering Santa Claus impersonators in London during Christmastime, Don’t Open till Christmas is packed with essential exploitation ingredients: blood, sex, laughs, and a nice, extra-thick layer of gooey cheese. After four similar slayings in the first fifteen minutes, one sharp detective asks another, “So, do you think we have a psychopath on our hands?” I dunno man, MAYBE? This entire movie is insane, and fills me with Yuletide joy.
Speaking of joy, cult goddess Caroline Munro even shows up for a sudden, inexplicable musical number which culminates in the discovery of another grisly death. As Caroline starts shaking those luscious hips and begins to sing, you wonder if you’ve switched to a different movie without realizing it. Frankly, who cares why this scene is shoehorned into the film—it’s Caroline Freakin’ Munro, singing and shimmying onstage, dressed in a sparkly, form-fitting, Christmas-red dress. She’s mesmerizing, and I could watch an entire concert of her in that dress singing nothing but that song for two hours.
Random scenes like this seem haphazardly thrown together in Don’t Open till Christmas because that’s basically what happened. The movie took two years to complete and entire parts of it were reshot, with new scenes added late in the process. The final product is a disjointed patchwork job. The Wikipedia description of the film’s disastrous production sounds legitimately insane:
Principal photography began in December 1982 and concluded in early 1984. The film notably had numerous production issues such as conflicts between the producers and director and star, Edmund Purdom. These issues would constantly result in filming dates being delayed and scheduling issues. Eventually, Purdom quit the production and writer Derek Ford was hired to take over the directing but he would be dismissed after only two days. The film’s editor, Ray Selfie was then hired afterwards to direct and Alan Birkinshaw was hired to rewrite the majority of the script. Because of Purdom’s departure, many scenes in the movie had to be reshot or cut all together (including a key scene featuring the character of Dr. Bridle portrayed by Nicholas Donnelly) This resulted in the recasting of numerous characters since many original actors were not available to return for reshoots. However, Purdom would eventually return to the production to finish directing and reprising his role as Inspector Harris. This resulted in the production using the original ending as written before Purdom’s departure.
Sweet Christmas, what a hot mess! That only makes me appreciate this tasty slice of cult cinema even more, though. Given all the turmoil, it’s a Christmas miracle the film was ever released at all! If you’ve never seen Don’t Open till Christmas, give yourself the gift of watching it this Christmas season. Curl up with some spiked eggnog and prepare to be gobsmacked by this demented and deliriously entertaining slice of holiday horror.
Don’t Open till Christmas is currently streaming on Amazon Prime and AMC+.
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