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‘Black Christmas’ & ‘Silent Night, Bloody Night’ Make for the Perfect Creepy Christmas Double Feature

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Pictured: 'Black Christmas'

What do Black Christmas and Silent Night, Bloody Night have in common? 

Blurry first-person POV? Check. Mouth-breathing killer? Double check. Creepy phone calls? Triple Check. In both Bob Clark’s Black Christmas (1974) and Theodore Gershuny’s Silent Night, Bloody Night (1972), an unknown killer stalks their victims around the Christmas season, both striking terror and intrigue. Each entry succeeds to varying degrees in balancing cheer and fear; one becoming a holiday classic and the other a largely-forgotten gem. As a slasherific double feature, this holiday season brings a little goodwill and a whole lotta torture.

Gene Siskel once called Black Christmas a “routine shocker,” giving it a measly 1.5 out of 4 stars. That’s a paltry review for a tightly-wound and tense proto-slasher that helped catapult the slasher genre into the limelight. It might have come four years before Halloween, but it does many of the same things and in some ways, does it exceedingly better.

Unlike its descendant, the killer in Black Christmas lingers in the shadows, both literally and figuratively, for the entire runtime. Billy, as he’s known, stalks sorority girls on a college campus. We’re first introduced to his character within the first five minutes of the film, as he peeks into the windows of the sorority house and eventually climbs a trellis into the attic. There, he flails in anger – knocking over a lampshade, shoving a rocking horse, and then making the space his own makeshift funeral home.

Clark engrains Billy’s aggression towards women into the fabric of the film. From the vulgar phone calls (which include words like “cunt”) to the bursts of violence against the characters, Billy’s actions directly correlate to the treatment of women in society. At the time, a woman’s autonomy was only in its infancy.

It’s hard to imagine there wasn’t specific intent behind giving Jess (Olivia Hussey) a pro-abortion storyline. The film dropped one year after Roe v Wade in the States. While it’s a Canada-made film, it presents itself as a direct response to what was going on just across the border. As far as Canada goes, there was a famous abortion caravan that took place in 1970, a sojourn from Vancouver to Ottawa to liberate the abortion law. Jess and her resolve to have an abortion seems to parallel what was happening right outside her front door.

‘Black Christmas’

With Jess and her friends the target of malice, Black Christmas unravels a potent socio-political allegory about a woman’s right to choose, a willingness to stand up for what is right, and finding the gumption to confront toxic masculinity. Jess’ boyfriend Peter (Keir Dullea) represents the poison of machismo throbbing in society’s veins, as he makes his anger-filled emotional response Jess’ problem rather than a blinding demonstration of his own fragile ego. “You selfish bitch,” he seethes to her in one of the film’s most appropriately timely scenes. She’s just told him (again) that she plans to have an abortion, and despite his rage, she keeps an even temperament, a striking counterbalance to a society that dictates what she can and can’t do with her own body.

In the end, Jess mistakenly kills Peter, believing him to be the killer, but it’s also a symbolic gesture. It bookends her journey, from a meager sorority girl to a heroic fighter. She had every reason to believe Peter was the killer, his strange, aggressive behavior toward her an indication that something far more sinister simmered below the surface. Of course, Peter wasn’t the killer but his death signified the death of cultural pressures to uphold the patriarchy. “The calls are coming from inside the house” means more than just a plot point – it’s the notion that toxic masculinity is perpetuated by everyone in society, not just by men.

From a stylistic vantage point, Black Christmas utilizes first-person POV to give the film a great sense of foreboding. By sitting in the front seat of the killer’s perspective, the audience is made uncomfortable and downright terrified, in much the same way Peeping Tom (1960) did before it. There’s the suggestion that Billy, who uses different voices in the phone calls, could have a split personality – or at least is so deranged that he’s play-acting every one of his murderous fantasies. The calls pepper throughout the film; each time Jess answers the phone, they grow more peculiar and unsettling. “What are you doing?!” she asks, clearly rattled.

Cinematographer Reg Morris coats the film with a crackling static. Even when the first-person POV isn’t used, it’s as though we’re witnessing the events through an unknown party’s perspective. Even in its quieter moments, you begin to feel claw marks scraping over the images, evoking impending doom as the killer circles closer and closer. As the phone calls grew increasingly violent, and Jess’ friends are picked off one-by-one, Black Christmas does a wonderful job in forcing the viewer to confront the killer themselves. You begin to feel Billy’s words being whispered into your ears, and even feel his breath on the nape of your neck. Its a hair-raising film by all accounts. You can extract the socio-political elements, and it remains an effective little chiller. It does everything horror should do; all this to say, it’s my favorite horror film of all time.

‘Silent Night, Bloody Night’

While Silent Night, Bloody Night has no deep social or political messages, the film does make for a nice pairing with its bolder counterpart. From the tone and feel, it exacts an altogether eerie story about escaped mental patients and revenge, doused in blurry first-person POV and equally chill-inducing phone calls, which aren’t nearly as creepy and unhinged as Billy’s but still do the trick. The film’s edges are frayed, as one might expect in an early ‘70s slasher (shout-out to cinematographer Adam Giffard), and the layers by which Gershuny varnishes the film make for a fascination and gripping watch.

The story is quite simple. Jeffrey (James Patterson) desires to sell the family’s estate, much to the dismay of the town itself. The home harbors dark, terrible secrets – it was the site of a tragic fire incident which killed its original owner and Jeffrey’s grandfather Wilfred – and the townsfolk refuse to allow it to fall into anyone else’s hands. They offer $50,000 in cash for the house, and the exchange is expected to follow through the next morning, courtesy of Jeffrey’s lawyer Carter (Patrick O’Neal). But an unknown killer pops out of the shadows, first slaughtering Carter and his mistress and then many of the townspeople.

One young woman named Diane (Mary Woronov) befriends Jeffrey and finds herself in the center of the killer’s diabolical scheme. As Jeffrey and Diane draw closer to finding out the truth, they must fight for their lives if they have any hope of surviving until morning. Silent Night, Bloody Night (not to be confused with Silent Night, Deadly Night) is as straight-laced and serious as Black Christmas, nary a whiff of camp about it. Despite some wooden acting, the story is compelling enough to keep the viewer hooked until the very end.

As the pieces come unglued, the flawed narrator becomes the viewer. We’ve been given bits and pieces throughout the film, with only our deductive reasoning an avenue by which to solve the mystery. As it turns out, Wilfred is very much alive and has been living in a nearby asylum for 20-odd years. Much like Billy, we rarely get a significant glimpse of the killer. It’s only until the very end when he reveals himself that his visage comes into crystal-clear view, lasting only a few moments before Diane guns him down in the final showdown. 

‘Silent Night, Bloody Night’

With its brisk runtime, clocking in at 83 minutes (including credits), Silent Night, Bloody Night tightens the screws in a way that make you frozen to the core. Given its stylistic similarities to Black Christmas, you wonder if Bob Clark took some inspiration from this film. It would be easy to see why; distilling the unknown killer, the phone calls, and the first-person POV would be a genius move. Even if that is untrue, it’s difficult to untangle each film from one another.

Black Christmas and Silent Night, Bloody Night is the sort of double feature that’ll make your skin crawl. If it doesn’t, that just means your skin is on too tight, as the BC poster art promises. Together, the two films carry both the wonder of Christmas and the fright of never knowing if the killer could very well be standing behind you. We don’t answer phone calls quite like we used to, but the implication of what that could mean is as frightening today as it was 50+ years ago.

Black Christmas & Silent Night, Bloody Night are now streaming on SCREAMBOX.


Double Trouble is a recurring column that pairs up two horror films, past or present, based on theme, style, or story.

Editorials

What’s Wrong with My Baby!? Larry Cohen’s ‘It’s Alive’ at 50

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Netflix It's Alive

Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.

Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.

Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.

It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.

At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.

It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.

As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.

Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.

Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.

Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.

I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.

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