Black Christmas

a.k.a. Stranger In The House
a.k.a. Silent Night, Evil Night
a.k. 47

Year: 1974
Rated: R
Run Time: 93 minutes
Production Company: Ambassador/ August Film Productions
Director: Bob Clark (Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, Deathdream, Porky's)
Starring: Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, John Saxon, Anglo Saxon
T & A: Negatit
Def Comedy: Uses A Lot of Sign Language

"If Your Skin Doesn't Crawl, It's On Too Tight!"

For years I thought that Black Christmas was a venereal disease that Vietnam veterans caught when they ate hookers' assholes out in Laos. Years later, I found out that Black Christmas was really called Kwanzaa and (outside the prison population) has very little to do with eating people's asses. It does however, have a hell of a lot to do with Kinte cloth, yams, and SHARING. So, in the true spirit of this Holiday Season, I'm going to share a few things with you: like dirty needles, my totally unauthorized POKEMON SNAP strategy guide, or that debilitating case of oral herpes I contracted when I licked that honey mustard off of the handicapped toilet seat.... at least, I think that was honey mustard. While I'm at it, I'm also gonna drop 30 megatons of uncut, uncensored, and uncalled for S.C.I.E.N.C.E. upon your ass from high altitude regarding BLACK CHRISTMAS: THE MOVIE. So tell Juvenile to put the donkey in reverse and back that ass up: here comes the fucking plot summary.

The girls of Kappa Zeta Street Fighter Ex Plus Alpha are gearing up for the long christmas break. Just about everyone is going home for the holidays, including all the nubile females we'd care to see naked. However, we do have a dirty half dozen that decide to remain in the sorority house over the break with their alcoholic housemother- despite the increasing number of obscene phone calls they've been getting. So, while the rest of the country is getting ready to settle down for a nice winter's nap... the girls of Kappa Zeta-Jones are preparing to get drunk, butt-naked, and fuck (in that order). Only one problem stands in the way of their holiday decadence: the fact that an armed psycho has managed to break into the attic of the old sorority house. Throughout the movie, the murderous freak lies in wait... just scant inches above the heads of the unsuspecting sorority girls. He watches them sleep. He watches them eat. He even watches mild-mannered Clare Harrison play with her pussy a few times (she has a cat, retard). Every once in a while, usually after getting his ass kicked by M. Bison for the 25th time in a row, the maniac will slip out of the ceiling and into the house for a little holiday cheer. This usually involves strangling one of the girls to death in her closet, hitting the housemother in the head with a gigantic hook, or stealing someone's Sarah McLaughlin CD Boxed Set. After he slakes his thirst for killin', he retreats back to the attic with his corpses to keep him company.

All of this is going on just upstairs from the rest of the girls: who are either too drunk, too stoned, or too sexy for their hat to notice that their fellow sisters are being kidnapped by a goon in the attic. They file a few missing persons claims with the police department and under the guidance of Police Chief John Saxon (John Holmes was out of town) they begin an intensive investigation. Soon, everyone becomes either a suspect or a victim as the disappearances increase. Accusations (and airplanes) fly, turning your average slasher into a deadly game of hip-hop whodunnit.

You know, about an hour into this movie, I began to wish that I had dunnit. Push the fucking eject button that is... and gone off to smoke a fat spliff with Rudy Ray Moore. Fellati-O Shit. This garbage started to drag like a bow-legged assquatch with an anchor lodged in its anus . Oh sure, the movie felt pretty damn good at first: but so did that blow job you got at the Let's Get Physical Dance Party, that is until you looked down and saw Richard Simmons in a tube top and heels. But I digress, the obscene phone calls really were a trip and they do warrant an honorable discharge (as opposed to an oily, discolored one): full of ridiculous streams of profanity, shocking sexual jargon, and explicit lyrics of a diabolic anal alignment... just what you'd expect from an insensitive fucker who didn't dial 1-800 COLLECT, didn't save anybody up to 44%, and didn't wash his hands after fisting Xena: Warrior Princess in the court of King Minos.

But, a few dirty phone calls and instances of corpse molestation, do not a horror movie make. Sure, they sound like a real love connection for me personally (because remember kids: it's not rape if it's already dead) for for your average ham 'n' egger in search of some hardcore mayhem- you'd best look St. Elsewhere. The body count, coming in at 4, is extremely low for a slasher and despite the patented Killer-Cam technology the camera shies away from any real head-on gore shots.

When it comes down to it: BLACK CHRISTMAS is notable only for the fact that it was ahead of its time. By coming out in 1974, the flick effectively scooped HALLOWEEN with the dead-teenager formula that we've all come to know and love. Of course, there's a good reason why Michael Meyers has his own licensed lunchbox, his own action figure, and his own home pregnancy kit and BLACK CHRISTMAS doesn't have a pot to piss in or a window to toss it out of. The simple fact is that BLACK CHRISTMAS sucks its fair share of ass. Want some real Holiday cheer? Get drunk and piss on Santa Claus.


Our Rating System

Z-man: "BLACK CHRISTMAS does have one genuinely scary moment: the scene where you realize you actually wasted 90 minutes of your life watching this fucking crap when you could have been doing something worthwhile: like masturbating."