绡悆浜岀骇杩愬姩鍛樻爣鍑?:Don’t Open Till Christmas
This ended up being the perfect movie to sleep through after Christmas morning with the family. Not all of it, mind you, but the vast majority of this movie was clearly designed to illicit sleep. The good parts, and there are quite a few, make this Christmas horror film worth a shot, but only after you have seen everything else the genre has to offer.
Someone is running around the streets of London killing chaps dressed as Santa. But not the garden variety Santas, no, all of the victims-to-be are drunkards, bums, and / or sex addicts. It just so happens that Santa suits must have been very cheap and fashionable amongst the dregs of society the year this movie takes place in – literally every loser in London is wearing a jolly suit. A couple of bumbling detectives from New Scotland Yard are hard at work solving the Santa slayings. By hard at work, I mean being terrible at their jobs.
As the story progresses you will fall asleep and be awoken with random breasts, possibly from the model who can’t help but flash every couple seconds. The naked model does partake in one of the highlights of the film when her and one of the main guys end up trapped outside on the streets of London (her in a Santa robe with her boobs poppin’ out). Some cops (or maybe just a couple pedestrians) spot her and the guy about to hook up and in a moment of panic the gentleman says, “They will think we are a couple of gays” and bolts off, leaving her to fend for herself. Chivalry is, in fact, dead.
In slashers the kills are the most important of the film. No one watches slasher flicks for the deep and intricate plots. It’s all about coming up with bloody and creative kills. Don’t Open Till Christmas does have plenty of kills (about 15 give or take because I fell asleep and possibly missed a couple), most of which cause a thick red ketchup-like substance to ooze from the dead. How creative the kills are is subject, however, as most of the murders are of the quick stab or slash variety. A couple of the kills manage to rise about bottom barrel slasher and are noteworthy (castration, anyone?) – just not enough to make a big impression. Unless you like blood spraying from a penis all over a urinal. Sadly, I do.
The dialogue manages to remain moronic all the way throughout the film. One of my favorite lines being from a local stripper who describes the killer as a man whose “eyes smile.” Yep, she is as bright as she sounds. Taking a break from writing stilted and dumb dialogue the writer’s let some chick perform an ENTIRE song on stage. The song is terrible and the 5 excruciatingly long minutes it lasts viewers should find something else to do with their time. Like try not to die of boredom.
All-in-all this is not a good film. It is quite bad, but not bad enough to be fun to watch – it takes itself way too seriously. Well, at least as seriously as a movie that features a main character who plays the flute in public to make ends meet can be.
Snore Factor: ZZZZZ (Sleepy time)