It's definitely something.
It begins in 1947, when young Harry Standling (Brandon Maggart) becomes forever scarred by seeing his father dressed as Santa Claus making out with his mom. I'm unclear whether it's the sexual act itself, or this potential evidence that Santa is a scam that sends him over the edge. The movie could also have more clarity about most other things, too. Thirty-three years later, Harry is a Christmas-obsessed maniac. Since the Real Santa isn't real, Harry's willing to take on that role himself, like a prototype-Jack Skellington.
He keeps a list of all the kids in his hood, who he regularly spies on with binoculars. Some of them are good children, like Scotty Goodrich and Suzy Lovett. It's when Harry spies little Moss Garcia reading a Penthouse that he goes into hysterics and frantic violin music kicks in. Harry writes in his oversized Naughty or Nice book under Moss Garcia's entry that he has "negative body hygiene." I'm not sure how he knows that, but either Harry got illegally close to the kid or is a crazy racist. Other written complaints about Moss include "crosses against the light" and "gets up late every day."
This made me laugh, yet the tone shuffles awkwardly between campy silliness and grimy sadness. Harry works in a toy-making factory, where he's perceived by co-workers as a loser. His own married brother (Jeffrey DeMunn, The Walking Dead) gets angry while sharing a moment with his wife by thinking about Harry's lameness. The adults in Harry's life, not the Naughty-list children, are the target of his murderous rage. At least the Santa Claus of legend had his priorities straight.
Crashing a Christmas party in his Santa get-up, he warns the kids there to be nice, or he'll give them something horrible. But even the disobedient premature horniness of Penthouse-reading Moss Garcia only earns a sack of dirt on his doorstep, which admittedly would be annoying and confusing for about one minute, at which point one could dump the dirt on the ground and continue reading porn mags.
Crashing a Christmas party in his Santa get-up, he warns the kids there to be nice, or he'll give them something horrible. But even the disobedient premature horniness of Penthouse-reading Moss Garcia only earns a sack of dirt on his doorstep, which admittedly would be annoying and confusing for about one minute, at which point one could dump the dirt on the ground and continue reading porn mags.
By portraying a mentally ill loner who becomes Santa Claus by
way of Judge Dredd, Christmas Evil (aka You Better Watch Out) approaches this most-cherished of Christian holidays through one man's all-consuming faith in morality and in the importance of believing in Santa. In doing so, Harry Standling is the type of unfortunate person others should think about helping at this time of year. But Harry's already too busy killing them. And this isn't that kind of movie, anyway.
The Meaning of Christmas
- Harry is consumed by the holiday, as he even wears a Santa hat to bed, and plays a Christmas album on wax as soon as he gets up. I wish the film explained if he keeps up these rituals all year, or only starts them around American Thanksgiving. In either case, he doesn't get due credit for inventing modern hipsterdom.
- Harry is a depressing man, who murders those who don't share his conviction. Unless they're kids, in which case he has an apoplectic fit and brings a bag of dirt to their house.
- The kids all love Santa Claus, even when he's as haggard and socially inept as Harry Standling, but they are mainly greedy for presents.
- Harry's co-workers are all stuck-up capitalist jerks, who will never appreciate the true meaning of Santa Claus.
- Every character in Christmas Evil has the wrong idea, but the audience knows better than all of them, and can condemn their poor holiday conduct from the warm comfort of their living rooms. So I guess Christmas Evil is heartwarming if your conscience is clear and you have a good living room setup.
Tomorrow: The Best Man Holiday
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