A film that could have done with some celestial assistance is 2006’s horror remake Black Christmas. Director Glen Morgan’s take on Bob Clark’s 1970s classic is a gore-soaked effort that overcomplicates the original film’s straightforward plot, while attempting to really outdo it in the disturbing violence stakes. Most remakes suffer from inevitable comparisons to their progenitor but I’m certain this film would still suck even if it was an original. It’s as if Morgan felt that going overboard with the blood, guts and eyeball-plucking would make up for a lack of suspense, atmosphere and characterisation.
Again, an unfortunate sorority girl is, unknown to her housemates, slaughtered by an unseen assailant just before Christmas break, with her corpse stashed in the attic. As her sorority sisters slowly figure out something is wrong, they’re picked off in increasingly macabre ways, often involving Christmas decorations. It’s a cool foundation for any horror director to have fun with, so it’s a shame that this feels so soulless and mean-spirited.
This film shows zero affection for its characters who are all callously dispatched before the audience gets to learn much about or care for any of them. This seems especially criminal when the starry, talented cast includes Michelle Trachtenberg, Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Lacey Chabert. I honestly cannot remember much about any of the characters other than one of the girls likes a drink and another is geeky. Oh, and Goldie Hawn’s son (Oliver Hudson) is in there as the token male character who’s set up as a suspect but acts so suspicious that it becomes totes obvious it can’t possibly be him.
To give it its due, the film shows real dedication to gruesomeness, with eyeball-gouging appearing to be this psycho’s M.O., while the effects are pretty gnarly. You also get the elaborate festive treat of human skin being turned into Christmas cookies and jaggy decorations utilised to suitably murderous effect. Gore-houds will appreciate the amount of mutilations, beheadings and grisly suffocations on show here but the butchery can’t cover up a needlessly confusing plot.
As with many a misguided remake, the writers make the grave misstep of believing we need a tragic, convoluted backstory for the killer. So, we’re subjected to many unnecessary flashbacks explaining why our villain turned out so naughty, touching on such Christmassy delights as evil parents, incest, torture and jaundice, for some reason. So much time is wasted on the ‘origin’ that the actual stalking/murder sequences feel rushed and lack momentum.
The script throws more mad stuff in there about the killer having a daughter who may or may not be involved in all this but I stop caring, switch off from the baffling story and just have a giggle at the colourful, inventive splatter on show. The film is a mess and, as a remake of a beloved classic, is of course, understandably reviled. Still, Morgan’s film gains some extra points for the final twisted shot of the killer being impaled on a bloody big Christmas tree. Nice.
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