Welcome to “Revenge Of The Remakes!” Columnist Matt Donato’s journey through the world of horror remakes. We all complain about Hollywood’s lack of originality whenever studios announce new remakes, reboots, and reimaginings, but the reality? Far more positive examples of refurbished classics and updated legacies exist than you’re willing to remember (or admit). The good, the bad, the unnecessary – Matt’s recounting them all.

“Christmas Horror” has curiously developed into my #1 subgenre addiction, so why not kick this column off with a ferociously festive favorite? Steven C. Miller’s Silent Night (2012) gift wraps everything I want from a psycho Santa slasher, and furthermore, from a horror remake. The original? 1984’s Silent Night, Deadly Night. Billy Chapman’s red-suited origin as December 25th’s nastiest disciplinarian of all who are deemed “naughty.” Let’s start “Revenge of the Remakes” on a positive first foot stepped into freshly powdered and blood-soaked snow.

The Approach

Studios, take note. When opting to remake or reboot long-standing properties, approach from the angle of “reimagining.” Silent Night could stand alone as an original Christmas slasher on merits unto Miller’s conceptual identity, but still pays respectful homage to Charles E. Sellier Jr.’s cult-lauded unholy night. Miller isn’t here to dust off old blueprints. His villain, the film’s formula, general nastiness, artistic desires – everything works to prove why remakes are most certainly allowed and not a death knell to originality as some cinema dissenters assert.

Jayson Rothwell’s script flips the narrative of Silent Night, Deadly Night by shifting focus from the story’s villain to a team of Wisconsin law enforcers who become Silent Night’s heroes. Where Sellier chooses to establish Billy through intimacy as a focal killer who offs somewhat nameless marks, Miller keeps a distance from whoever’s under his version’s plastic mask to honor more time-tested slasher hallmarks. Jaime King’s Deputy Aubrey Bradimore is our narrative commander, fighting back against the lunatic who’s dismembering and defiling her sleepy town’s population. Characters are (most times) more than kill fodder, and Rothwell favors mystery over painting a portrait of some deranged Yuletide murderer.

Does It Work?

Heck to the yes! Miller’s strengths behind the camera separate as far as possible from Sellier’s original. Most scenes are spent trying to locate one bad Santa in a town where costumed Clauses roam streets freely during the buildup before Cryer’s local Christmas parade. Silent Night lifts Silent Night, Deadly Night’s general idea, but doesn’t recreate the same midnight-prime lunacy of Billy’s rampage. What Silent Night, Deadly Night becomes is so singular to itself and the ensuing (anthological) franchise. Miller’s gingerbread crime scene construction is a heightened flavor of its own frosted decorative signature.

With the above noted, it’s important than Silent Night still includes noticeable callbacks to iconic scenes. Maybe it’s “Crazy Grandpa” in the senior home who drifts out of his catatonic state just long enough to tell his punk nephew Christmas Eve is the “scariest damn night of the year.” Perhaps it’s Deputy Giles (Andrew Cecon) muttering a line about “garbage day” when taking out the trash. Maybe it’s the film’s ending “twist,” which we won’t spoil for Silent Night newbies. Miller’s vision comes from a place of love for retro horror and Sellier’s origin, which repurposes the original’s most iconic quotables as crazed carolers might. A nod of the cap that’s never beholden to tit-for-tat obviousness.

The Result

Silent Night is a brand of fangs-flashed, aggressive slasher that harkens back to the very era Silent Night, Deadly Night was born in but Hollywood since abandoned. Miller’s proclivity for gruesome storytelling never shies from in-your-face flexing, and Silent Night is the sum of all his nastiest emphasis. By 2012, popcorn slashers saw themselves sufficiently phased from mainstream slates in favor of the “dark, gritty” grime popularized by Zack Snyder’s lens. Horror’s morbidly comedic underbelly covered and clothed, leaving little place for 80s genre mentalities to flourish in conception. Miller’s reimagining is a reminder of what was once profitable, and a damn-fine example of how it could still thrive despite modern cinema favoring alternate trends. Maybe that’s why Anchor Bay never granted Silent Night the release it deserved.

As an all-spiced bite of Christmas horror, Miller’s heavy lean into jingle-bell-rockin’ brutality encompasses all we expect the subgenre to celebrate. Victims die by a cranky Kringle who roasts some like chestnuts, electrocutes others with a crown of multicolored Christmas lights, and sends a good fright when flashing his candy cane striped scythe. Production decor finds a gossipy rural town amidst Christmas Eve jubilee decked out in ugly sweaters, Naughty Mrs. Claus lingerie, and more ornamental sparkle than Clark Griswold’s estate. Even cinematography embraces wintery notes, soaking Act III’s climax in evergreen neon and blood red color filters while Aubrey fights back. Miller morphs cheer into carnage and satirizes every ounce of goodwill preyed upon by devils of the season, from bratty kids to pervy priests to cheating spouses.

When you think “holiday horror,” Silent Night is a poster child.

When filmmakers accept a remake gig, all you can hope is that a director’s creativity and signatures offer something fresh. Justify your decision to give us another [insert title]. In this case, Miller pushes the boundaries that Sellier once set by glorifying spectacle slasher deaths while asserting punishing darkness with a devious smile. It’s a bit sentimental because Silent Night marks an end to Miller’s hardcore horror catalog (thus far), but showcases practical-heavy talents and punk-as-hell confidence. Look no further than after the showpiece Lienna Quigley homage, where said hottie’s boyfriend eats a face full of axe. Right and left sides now with a sizable empty “V” in between, juices gushing outwards as the camera lingers on one dynamite prosthetic rig with great pride.

There’s so much appreciation in Silent Night’s product, but most importantly, Miller craves something grander, gorier, and more savage than what once was banned for its “killer Santa” marketing.

Does Rothwell get goofy? With references to Glee, Tim Tebow, American Idol, and so many other of-the-time pop culture phenomenons, there’s this unmistakable cheekiness that calls back to the original film’s unintentional comedy. Dated references can be a mood killer, but Malcolm McDowell’s performance as a gruff-and-sassy sheriff grump is legendary veteran character work. “Don’t put avocado on the burger,” he instructs instead of saying “don’t overcomplicate things.” When misspelling a perp’s name as “Karson” instead of “Karsson,” his retort upon being corrected is “Double ‘S?’ Double screwed.” Rothwell’s conviction when it comes to cheesy comedy is intentionally overplayed given connections to Silent Night, Deadly Night, but distinctly individualistic. Once again, we come back to differentiation.

The Lesson

Shoot your shot! Fortune favors the bold. Be more than “just a remake.” Silent Night is a brilliant resource on how to honor cinematic achievements of yesteryear by both building out existing walls but directing people back to where it all began. Steven C. Miller respects Charles E. Sellier Jr.’s contribution to Christmas horror canon as much as he stakes his own pepperminty claim. Anyone can copy someone else’s work – the true test is taking someone else’s product and making it your own. Silent Night? Every bit a true exemplification of the latter.