True story: some years ago I was in a spot of financial bother and was forced to sell some of my DVD collection. The shop I was selling them to was offering prices as low as 30p for some of the worst films in my collection... and even they wouldn't take Don't Open Till Christmas, therefore putting it right up there with the time I willingly paid £20 for a copy of Zombie Creeping Flesh for Most Dubious Movie Purchases of all time (and I was eventually able to get rid of the latter, while the former still lurks among my DVD collection, taunting me).
Don't Open Till Christmas is a jolly little holiday film where someone is going around killing Santa Clauses in various unpleasant ways. Drunk Santas, canoodling Santas, urinating Santas, naked female Santas posing for softcore photos... none are spared. A police detective, Inspector Harris, is put on the case but seems to be getting nowhere, while at the same time a suspicious journalist named Giles is wandering around, stalking witnesses and asking questions he shouldn't know to ask...
This is not a film to show to your Santa-loving family. It doesn't even have the unintentional black humour that other Santa-slashers like the Silent Night, Deadly Night series has to redeem it. All it has to even remotely recommend it to anyone is a scene where an attractive naked woman in a Santa cape is menaced by a man running a straight razor along her body, and even that has a lovely undercurrent of misogyny to it. (Which, incidentally, makes another scene where they have a peep show girl wear a baggy white t-shirt that reaches nearly to her knees while she's doing a show - and that she never removes a single item of clothing for her show - even more confusing. Apparently they had a strict limit on the number of naked women they could have in the film.) Other than that the only thing notable in the film is the myriad ways in which the Santas are dispatched - one is roasted along with chestnuts on an open fire; another takes a tribal spear to the neck; one is chased into the London Dungeon and killed with the implements there, and one poor bugger gets his little Santa sliced off in a public urinal. Merry Christmas indeed.
On the off-chance that you might actually want to see this film for itself, a spoiler alert goes here: it turns out that the Santa killer is, shockingly, reporter Giles, who's not actually a reporter but a recently-released mental patient who had been committed for - brace yourselves - hating Christmas. And he was Inspector Harris' brother. Amazingly no-one anywhere thought at any point, "Hey, you know that guy who hates Christmas and anything to do with it who we released at Christmas? You think we should have told his only family that he's out, or that he has anything to do with the murder of all these Santas? No?" This is far from the film's only gaping plot hole, but it is the one that makes me want to tear my hair out the most.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of this film though is the inclusion of Edmund Purdom as both Inspector Harris and the film's director. Purdom was a well-known theatre actor (he performed on Broadway at one point), as well as a prolific actor in many films (he also dubbed a great many Italian films into English). Apparently Purdom only agreed to star in the film if he was also allowed to direct it, and as this was his only director credit I think it is kindest to say that his skills lay firmly in acting.
(Edit: after writing this review I discovered some further details about the direction of Don't Open Till Christmas; specifically that Edward Purdom did start out directing it, but walked off the set completely before it was completed, and so the direction then fell to the writer and then the editor. This goes a hell of a long way as to explaining how the film is so risable and can't tell a coherent narrative to save its life, and also excuses Purdom from most of the blame.)
Comments