Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning

Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone, just like all these characters in this so-late-let's-just-consider it-early holiday twin pack.

---

Don't Open Till Christmas (1984)

Grade: C-



Typical '80s slasher that would likely be utterly forgotten were it not for the Christmas motif. Substitute the ten slain Santas with any other category of person -- taxi drivers, clowns, bucktoothed gingers (this is British, after all) -- and it would essentially be the same exact movie, albeit with a lot less cheap red velour.



But, since the theme guarantees it a spot on everyone's IMDB list of "101 Xmas horror films" (good thing they put "Christmas" in the title -- 1984 and already thinking about SEO), at least a few people will likely screen it each December as part of a holiday movie marathon (ahem).


Festive!

As for horror, there's the typical blood and gore -- nothing terribly exotic, but extra credit for the wide variety of methods, including car battery electrocution, shoe knife to the groin, and spear through the head.

Though sometimes nothing beats a good ol' fashioned bullet in the mouth.

The killer isn't revealed until about 3/4 of the way through, and there's a weak attempt to keep the audience guessing among the various suspects, be it the not-all-that-mysterious Inspector, or the kind-of-a-huge-jerk fiance — who not only tries to coerce his girl to pose nude for his photographer friend, but also has her hold out the hat as he busks with his flute in the street. His flute!

Ian would approve.

And of course, it's inevitably revealed that the murderer was scarred for life and driven to kill by something witnessed in childhood.

Which involves sex, natch.

So, besides that silly flute, what does set this film apart? Nothing much, except for what seems like a serious telephone fetish. Phones in booths, phones in hallways, on coffee tables, in dramatic close-up -- it's all about the rotary dial.

All dressed up and nowhere to go.

In particular, two fetching models in red and white play a star role in the "experience booth" scenes.

Hey, she's not bad!

The propmasters must have liked them so much, they show up again in the interrogation room.

(Wait, aren't those . . .)

And AGAIN in the detective's office. He mostly uses the black one . . .

(Why don't you like us? We're just trying to be good phones.)

. . . but occasionally picks up the red one if he's feeling particularly merry, or presidential.

(YAAAAAY!)

Bottom line, nothing much to see here folks. Well, unless you're lonely on Christmas Eve, and might like to fantasize about what could have happened had peep show Santa coughed up that extra fiver before being so rudely interrupted.

If you go that route, just make sure to stop playback before 1:05:00

---

New Year's Evil (1980)

Grade: C-

(YAAAAAY!)

Another movie whose title gives the impression that the filmmakers had residuals on the brain; what better way to get trotted out annually than to use the one play on words that makes any sense for this holiday?


(OK guys, just tossin' these out there: Boo Year's Eve? New Year's Eerie? Fine, I'd like to see you do better.)

Though unlike the last one, New Year's Evil depends on the festivities for its schtick to make sense. The hours leading to midnight are a metronome by which our villain commits his murders -- or attempts to, at least.

A major redeeming factor for this movie is that the murderer himself has a few unplanned oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit moments that are rather refreshing in this age of Criminal Minds and the insane-yet-completely-omniscient unsub.

True, a countdown-to-zero series of slashings could happen on some other not-as-special night, but then you wouldn't have an aging Pinky Tuscadero ticking off the year's greatest hits and serving as New Wave Casey Kasem on Hollywood Hotline, an LA punk concert cum call-in show.

(Wasn't I already too old for this in Happy Days?)

Yup, I said call-in. The phones are out in force again right from the get-go.

White phones.

Black phones.

Nostalgic phones.

That TV is dead now.

Suicidal phones.

Phones disappointed that the murderer-protagonist misses the obvious opportunity for a Superman nod.



Besides the calling, there's a bit of chasing, a bit of killing, and a bit of blood -- unfortunately, not really enough of any of those last three to really satisfy a true horror aficionado. The music's OK -- a mix of horror-synthesizer and punky stuff -- but nothing lastingly memorable.



Bottom line, nothing much to see here folks. Well, unless you're lonely on New Year's Eve, and might like to fantasize about what could have happened had drive-in dude gotten to third base before being so rudely interrupted.



Eh, no thanks. We're cool.


proving that the blood is strong