“What are we coming to, what sort of people are we… to make, or see, or seem to want a film like this? The sickest and filthiest film… Children’s terror used as entertainment, atrocious cruelty put on the screen for fun.”
Isabel Quigley’s review of Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom in The Spectator, 15.04.60.
Santaphobia aka Clausophobia, is an irrational fear of Father Christmas, closely associated with (deep breath) Christougenniatikophobia, an irrational fear of the festival itself, not to mention Pogonophobia, an irrational fear of beards (sufferers of which are living through particularly tough times right now, given that every hipster toss pot on the block is currently cultivating ridiculous chin foliage.)
Although it’s entirely possible that youthful viewings of Charles E. Sellier Jr’s Silent Night, Deadly Night (aka Slayride, 1984) could induce such phobias in nervous Nellies, there’s nothing irrational at all about its protagonist Billy’s fear of the guy in the big red duffel coat. When he was a kid (as portrayed by Jonathan Best), Billy and family spent one Xmas Eve visiting his senile grandpa (Will Hare) in a rest home for the viciously addled.
While Dad and Mom (Tara Buckman from several subsequent soft core Joe D’Amato atrocities) were in the director’s office sorting out some paper work, the miserable old cunt snapped out of his catatonic state long enough to warn little Billy that Santa spends the night before Christmas looking for bad children to punish. Presumably Billy would have been able to laugh all this off as the demented ravings of a pyjama pants-pissing window licker, but for an unfortunate incident that befell the family on their way home and tended to reinforce Grampy’s downbeat interpretation of the Festive Period. A stick up man in a Santa suit, on the lam from a messy heist, flagged their car down, shot Dad in the head and cut Mom’s throat as she resisted being raped by him. Billy witnessed all of this from the ditch he was hiding in. From this point on, the regular recurrence of December 25th gives Billy considerably more to angst over than the issue of whether or not he’s going to get the latest Pokemon game in his sack.
Billy (now played by Danny Wagner) and kid brother Ricky (who was mercifully too young to register the massacre of his parents) are farmed out to St Mary’s Home For Orphaned Children, a Utah Orphanage run by nuns (I thought everyone in Utah was a Mormon?) whose Mother Superior (Lilyan Chauvin) was obviously trained in the Eric Bristow school of PTSD counselling. She insists that Billy take part in Christmas celebrations like all the other kids (pity they didn’t put him in a home run by Jehovah’s Witnesses) despite the fact that it’s obviously freaking him out. When he demurs he gets tied to his bed and whupped. He’s also beaten after spying through the keyhole on a couple making out (gotta be loads of them in Utah’s Catholic orphanages, right?) When forced to sit on Santa’s knee he responds by chinning Mr Claus and boy, does he gets a whuppin’ for that, during which his tormentor assures him that “Punishment is good”… just like Grampy used to say! “You’ll see my methods work” Mother Superior assures Sister Margaret (Gilmer McCormick), though the latter has her doubts. She’s the only one in this joint, probably in the whole picture, who treats Billy with any sympathy or humanity…
… possibly not with total understanding, though, as when Billy has grown up (in the hunky shape of Robert Brian Wilson) and it’s time for him to seek gainful employment, Sister Margaret secures him a job in Ira’s toys store (they’ve had to diversify a bit since the terrorism thing petered out.) Everything’s fine, Billy’s a model employee and even attracts the admiring attention of sexy colleague Pamela (Toni Nero) but then, sure as shit, the Christmas season rolls around…
… and Billy is obliged (what were the odds on this?) to stand… er, sit in for the store’s no-show Santa. After a day of being wound up by foul children and unwisely plied with alcohol by his stupid boss, Billy is just about ready to blow. When he finds Pamela making out with a boorish co-worker in the stock room, our boy (still in full Santa drag) proceeds to slaughter everybody in the shop with box cutters, bow-and-arrow and an axe (precisely what some of these murderous implements were doing in a toy shop is something you’d have to ask script writers Paul Ciami and Michael Hickey.) Clutching that axe, Billy heads into town to continues what he sees as his Santarly duties. Among those of whom he makes mincemeat is “a well-known Scream Queen” who’s been making out with a guy on a pool table… and that’s naughty. Dishing out poetic justice in the Christmas spirit, Billy impales her on the horns of a mounted reindeer head… deck the halls with Linnea Quigley!
One cute little Munchkin wisely insists, when challenged, that she’s been nice rather than naughty, thereby saving herself. Billy chops up everybody else he encounters, all the while screaming “punish… PUNISH!” Personal favourite? The town bully who’s imprudent enough to pilot his stolen sledge within axe-swinging distance of Billy and arrives at the bottom of his run significantly shorter than he was at the crest of it. Billy rocks up at The Orphanage to settle accounts with Mother Superior, only to be gunned down by the Sheriff. His axe falls at the feet of kid brother Ricky (Alex Burton), whose nutzoid stare and muttered “Naughty!” suggests, in that laziest of wrap-up clichés, that he will grow up to take on Billy’s murderous red and white-trimmed mantel. I’m reliably informed that he did in at least one of the film’s interminable sequels, but I can’t say that I’ve ever found myself so desperate for something to do that I’ve watched any of them.
Christmas themed horror flicks were an established sub-genre well before Mr Sellier Jr turned his directorial hand to this monstrosity. 1972 yielded Theodore Gershuny’s Silent Night, Bloody Night and Freddie Francis’s portmanteau effort Tales From The Crypt, in one episode of which Joan Collins fell foul of a Santa-outfitted strangler. Bob Clark’s gialloesque Black Christmas (1974) is probably better than the rest of the X-cert Xmas epics put together. 1980 brought us another brace of the bloody things, Lewis Jackson’s Christmas Evil and To All A Goodnight, directed by David Hess (yes, that David Hess…) The real impetus for a flood of Satanic Santa sagas, though was when John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) took the laurel for biggest grossing independent movie of all time (an accolade it hung on to until surpassed by one of the dopier Elm Street Sequels) and Sean Cunningham’s Friday The 13th (1980) made a similar box office impact, at which point horror film producers left no significant calendar date untouched in their lust for filthy festive lucre. Christmas proved a particularly fertile furrow for them to plough, yay, even unto Charles Band’s immortal Gingerdead Man vs Evil Bong (2013.)
Silent Night, Deadly Night stands out from the pack, however, in terms of sheer tastelessness, insensitivity, misanthropy and mean spirit… its writers have contrived a series of life events for poor l’il Billy that rank right up there with the successive misfortunes suffered by any De Sade heroine and Sellier wallows every bit as gleefully in the catastrophic consequences of child abuse as Joseph Ellison does in his equally reprehensible Don’t Go In The House (1979), a title I promise / threaten to examine on this blog some time in 2017.
Given the general tackiness of the whole endeavour, one wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the various picketing, protests and press campaigns launched against SN,DN by various concerned citizens / parents, media morals watch committees and what have you were actually orchestrated by the film’s publicists.
“31 bucks? Merry Fucking Christmas!!!”