There’s inventive festive kills aplenty in horrifying British whodunnit Don’t Open Till Christmas (1984), directed by and starring English journeyman actor Edmond Purdom. Here, Purdom is Scotland Yard Inspector Harris, on the hunt in seedy London town for a psycho who targets men dressed as Santa before slaughtering them in pleasingly imaginative ways. These include death by chestnut-roasting-grill and by spear (!) at the office party. The red-suited victims all tend to be butchered immediately after doing something morally questionable, like bonking in a car, going to a peep show or – my favourite – riding a bicycle while drunk.
It’s all shamelessly sleazy and nasty, but lots of fun too, feeling close to a Carry On… film in its glorious celebration of sauciness and boobies. One would think that after the first few maimings are reported in the press people would stop dressing as Santa but, hey – it’s Christmas, baby.
It starts to feel like the killer must have some sort of supernatural ‘St Nick Radar’, given his propensity for always being close by when these ‘Santas’ get up to no good. I don’t mind, though, as I’m having too much fun and clearly nobody involved is taking much of this too seriously.
The film takes its title from a scene early on in the film where our terribly polite inspector receives a parcel in the mail labeled “Don’t Open Till Christmas.” We’re left waiting right to the end to find out what’s inside but, thankfully, it doesn’t disappoint. Until that magical moment, Harris investigates that initial office party spear attack which involves looking into Cliff (Gerry Sundquist), the rather detestable boyfriend of the victim’s daughter. He’s a sleazy git for sure, but all the while we keep getting glimpses of an intense, bug-eyed dude who claims to be a reporter, but acts so sinister and suspicious-like that we must assume he’s a red herring. SPOILER!!! – he’s not, bug-eyes is actually the killer. It’s a mental, ballsy move by the filmmakers – it seems so obvious they want you to think it’s him, that you assume it simply must be someone else. Nope.
There are other weird moments that make this one stand out, like Cliff’s reaction to spear-murder right in front of him, by simply slamming his fists on the bar. He seems mildly annoyed, like his team’s just conceded a penalty, rather than having just witnessed a bizarre yuletide homicide. And how the hell did someone manage to sneak a spear in? Elsewhere, there’s a bit where the shady killer has an abducted stripper chained up in his dungeon for some reason. She promises not to try and run away if he unchains her, but then we get a fantastic close-up of her crossing her fingers right as she says it. That’s the good stuff.
One brilliantly flamboyant murder scene takes place in a freaky carnival house of horrors, though the standout moment for me sees one poor victim pursued into a theatre where a glitzy pop concert just happens to be going on, right in the middle of a full-on stage performance of a groovy ‘80s pop tune. This extravagant scene - complete with full band, smoke machine and lazers - comes out of nowhere but is a diverting, neat surprise and you just know that the corpse is going to end up on that stage somehow. Kudos to Purdom on that one – his film may not make a lot of sense, but it’s bloody entertaining with some rewarding, gruesome surprises.
It’s a film wholly concerned with delivering violent spectacle, sprinkled with just the right amount of festive imagery. Also, you simply have to love a film where the villain is defeated by fond memories of Christmas…well, that and falling down some stairs. I thoroughly recommend you do open this one before Christmas.
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