Black Christmas (

1974

)

Those fortunate enough to live in the comfort of a modern industrialized nation are unlikely to fear for their own survival in all but the most exceptional circumstances. Likewise, for those who do not believe in any religion, the idea of divine punishment holds no particular terror. But mankind, like a child in a darkened room, always seems to invent new things to fear. If it's not the monster under the bed, its the one lurking in the closet. Having insulated ourselves from mortal peril, and banished religious superstitions, the lurking specter of meaninglessness emerged. The notion that mankind is essentially an accident, a tiny spark of light in the middle of a cold and dark universe, has frightened people since the days of Lovecraft (though he was decidedly ahead of the curve on this one, leading to his unpopularity in his own lifetime and his celebrity beyond the grave). We have good reason to fear that our lives plod on by accident and happenstance, until they are snuffed out randomly by disease or accident or murder; that nothing means anything and nothing makes any sense. Horror films have only rarely allowed themselves to give voice to such a bleak worldview, classic ones were mostly tales of good banishing evil back to the shadows. In the 80s, when Slasher tropes solidified into unbreakable rules, horror films once again had a code of conduct, albeit one that nobody would ever follow in real life. Just don't have sex, don't do drugs, don't go off alone, never assumed the monster is dead, and you'll be fine. Horror films of that era became essentially escapist fantasies, that allowed their audiences to momentarily live in a world with a real moral order.

In the years before Friday the 13th (1980) and Halloween (1978) and after Black Sunday (1960), the world of cinematic horror was not so harmoniously ordered. Killers struck for no reason, as seen in Targets (1968) when Bobby Thompson one day grabs a small arsenal of weapons and begins shooting everyone he meets. The Carter family in The Hills Have Eyes (1977) were only out for a drive in the desert, they did nothing that could possible justify the way they are attacked, raped and killed. When they strike back at their attackers it is not the righteous rage of vengeance that fills their hearts but the savage instincts of survival. Speaking of Wes Craven's early works, what in God's name did Mari Collingwood do to deserve her treatment in The Last House on the Left (1972)? Trying to buy some weed hardly seems a wicked enough sin to justify being kidnapped, raped, and murdered. The conclusion to Night of the Living Dead (1968) makes it clear that the rest of mankind is jut as much a bunch of brainless killers as the titular ghouls. Today's film is very much a part of this moral landscape, and just to let us know it begins with the lone conservative good girl in the sorority, Claire, being killed by an unseen assailant. There is no logic to the killings in this, moral or otherwise, and thus no way for us to comfort ourselves with the notion that the victims somehow deserved it. But it goes further than that, the killer will never be appearing in the film. He's always off-camera, except for his extremities. We can hear his voice over the phone, but its not even clear that its just one figure talking. He constantly repeats the name “Billy” and I will refer to him as such out of convention, but there's not even enough evidence to be sure that really is his name. He has no personality and no motivations for his heinous acts; all we get is the consequences of his ghoulish actions. Every attempt to solve the mystery of the murders only takes the characters in the film further and further away from the truth. Black Christmas thus plays on both conventional fears, as well as existential dread. Not only do the girls in the film risk death, they risk death for no meaning whatsoever.

“Billy's” target of choice is a sorority house, whose denizens are just getting ready to pack up for their Christmas vacation. One of Black Christmas' strongest assets is its strong ensemble cast. There's no expendable meat here, as each girl in the sorority has a clearly defined personality, and not just some one note cliché either. Take Barbara “Bard” Coard for example, initially she comes off as a bitchy party girl who is way to eager to sink her claws into Clare for being a little different. However, shortly afterwards we get some insight into her dysfunctional home life by way a phone-call from her mother, telling Barb to not bother coming home for Christmas because mommy has found a new boyfriend. She's not a bitch just for kicks, its coming from a place of envy because Clare has a pair of traditional, involved parents (when Clare's father turns up later he expresses disappointment in the state of his daughter's room, as Clare has covered it with Hippie posters and even worse, put a framed photo of her boyfriend on the nightstand). She's not just a miserable wretch either, as later in the film she'll earn her nickname by delivering some of the cruelest and funniest lines in the whole movie. Barb is the most compelling figure among the girls by my reckoning, but she's hardly unique in the strength of her personality or the strength of the writing backing it up. Every character matters, and in a world where most slasher victims have about as much personality as a cardboard cutout this is an immeasurable advantage for Black Christmas. It has the double effect of making them more enjoyable to watch while their alive, and making their inevitable murders more impactful.

Speaking on inevitable murders, they start as soon as Clare goes upstairs after leaving a party with the rest of her sorority sisters. An unseen figure kills her, drags her body up to the attic, wraps her head in a plastic bag, and then props her up in rocking chair next to a doll. The film will return, from time to time, to this ghoulish image: Clare's face frozen in terror, her mouth agape. In one particularly disturbing instance, we see Clare's body from Billy's perspective, as he gently rocks the chair for her. None of the other sorority sisters notice Clare's disappearance till the next morning when Clare's father turns up to take her home for the Christmas break. At first nobody is too worried about the situation, assuming she's probably somewhere and just lost track of time, but as the hours start to drag on Clare's father, the drunken housemother Mrs. MacHenry, and the rest of the girls start to get concerned and go to the police. Initially the authorities are pretty disinterested, assuming that Clare has shacked up with some boy, that is until Clare's boyfriend pipes in that he hasn't seen her either. At this point the cops begin to lurch, slowly into action, but given the usual incompetence and bureaucracy associated with unioned government employees they won't be much help for some time.

While all this is going on, our designated final girl, Jess Bradford (played incidentally by Olivia Hussey, an actress I will always have fond memories of, thanks to a substitute teacher who did not realize that the version of Romeo and Juliet she was showing us was R rated) is dealing with a crisis of her own. She's been knocked up by her boyfriend, Peter, an eccentric pianist studying at the university's conservator. She plans to get an abortion, but Peter is disgusted by the idea and begins to act very strange as a result. He starts talking about quitting the conservatory, flubs and important recital (at least I think he's flubbing it, if he's playing a Stravinsky piece it could be spot-on), and smashes up his piano. Jess is worried about him, but remains insistent on getting the abortion. As the police begin to actually search for a suspect they consider Peter very closely.

Throughout the film, the sorority house is beset by obscene phone calls of the worst sort: threats, gibberish, and blood curdling screams. Impressively, the caller seems to be doing multiple voice on the other end, at times sounding like a young man, an old woman, and host of other characters. It's unsettling to listen to, to say the least. At first the girls are inclined to laugh off these calls as somebody's bad joke. However, after Clare goes missing, and the police turn up a murdered high school girl in the park, Jess begins to take the obscene phone-calls a bit more seriously. She contacts the police, and the hopelessly incompetent desk sergeant tells her that they have bigger fish to fry. The sergeant gets read the riot act by is superior once the Lieutenant realizes that the prank calls are coming into the same sorority house that Clare disappeared from. He assigns a car watch over the house and gets his men to trace the next obscene call that comes in. Little good that will do, because as they will all discover soon: The calls are coming from inside the house!

I find it rather amusing that Bob Clark went on from Black Christmas to direct an entirely different sort of holiday classic in A Christmas Story (1983). Sure the later movie was in its own way more cynical than its cheerful 50s aesthetic and charming nostalgia let on. But still, there’s a massive gulf between the playfulness of the later title and bleak nihilism of Black Christmas. I suppose that it gets rather tiresome spending all your time dwelling on the darker parts of life. There are plenty of things to be thankful for, and around this time of year it just seems easier to remember them all.

Merry Christmas everyone.