The 12 Scares of Christmas

As I continue to dig through a seemingly unending pile of Santa slashers, I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that the yuletide season is far more hostile holiday than Hallmark wants us to believe. Case in point: the following list of Christmas (and for politically inclusive reasons, Hanukah) horrors just waiting to send us running for cover into the quiet calm of Martin Luther King Jr. Day. 

12. Inflatable Lawn Ornaments 

I despise these things more than phoned-in covers of Christmas carols, and not just because I find them a lazy means of decorating. In my wildest fantasies, I assume these colorfully conformist balloons have been slowly building up helium fueled frustration over 1) being deflated half the month 2) stuffed in boxes 91% of the year and 3) looking dumb. How will they seek vengeance? Easy. Ever notice how no suburban lawn has just ONE? It’s not just that decorating is addictive: the inflatable lawn ornaments want it that way. Why? Power in numbers. I give it three more years before they start deflating over the heads of unsuspecting carolers, absorbing each do-gooder like The Blob and growing stronger with every verse.  


11. Unclear Gifting Policies 

Sometimes, it’s the everyday discomfort that provides us with more anxiety than any Nazi created superelf or axe-wielding St. Nick. Like a poorly translated adaptation of The Gift of the Magi, many an office drone, second cousin, or waving neighbor can spend a good deal of December wondering whether to purchase a gift for a casual acquaintance. Buy one and you risk looking too friendly; forget and you come off as a careless jerk. It may not be the stuff that Black Christmas is made of, but dealing with the awkwardness of ill-defined relationships is a horror rife for plenty of stress-induced nightmares.  

10. Ice

Depending on your location, snow is one more deadly tool on the heavily stocked belt of wrathful winter. Since mutant killer snowmen is a topic all of its own, let’s instead consider the very physical danger of H2O served a degree too cold. Drivers must master the art of steering into the slide in order to survive, an act which violates basic human instinct and never seems to work anyway. Pedestrians must constantly rotate their vigilance between dodging daggerish icicles and slippery patches of shimmering black ice. Don’t get me started on the inevitable skating rink excursion that undoubtedly ends in minor injury or worse, The Good Son/Orphan-esque cracks into hell frozen over. Avoid it like fruitcake. 

9. The Shopping Mall Santa Experience

One of the first things we learn as children is to not talk to strangers. Second is usually the heartbreaking lesson about not taking the candy they hand out so freely. So what do our parents do in between Cinnabon iced cappuccinos and Panda Express combos with fountain soda? Force our little bottoms on the germ-infested kneecaps of a complete unknown, who proceeds to grip our waists and ask us about our naughtiness over the past year. After posing for a poorly lit photo, he--or sometimes, ANOTHER stranger often wearing tights and short shorts--hands us a candy cane from the dusty netherworld that is his magical sack. While I like to imagine most shopping centers check their employees' references before handing over a month's worth of access to a community's children, cynicism and Billy Bob Thorton have taught me to be very wary of anybody wearing a synthetic beard.

8. Menorahs 

Simply because they imply open flames, which is a fire hazard any time, much less for seven whole days and eight nights (when people are sleeping and thereby even more in danger of negligence)  

7. Reindeer Bullies 

According to many a claymation special and library book, Christmas is about good will to men, joy on earth, and lots of singing. Why then does the grand master of ceremonies employ such mean-spirited, verbally abusive elitists as his high profile chauffeurs? Imagine, if you will, poor Rudolph’s fate had there never been “one foggy Christmas Eve.” Sure, he may still have gone down in history, but something tells me such a tale would involve more rifle shots atop the North Pole tower than gleeful prancing with orthodontic elves. Also, reindeer have been known to run down old ladies without leaving a note. I don’t like to fear for my grandmothers.  

6. Chimneys 

Eleven months of the year, anybody with a working fireplace probably doesn’t realize he or she has a working fireplace. Then December rolls around, you decorate your mantle, and the kids start asking questions. “How does Santa fit?” “Why are you lighting the log on December 24th?” “Why is Gremlins rated PG?” It’s Phoebe Cates’ infamous monologue in that yuletide classic that reminds us just how fatal those rectangular roasting plants truly are.  

5. Malls

See last week’s column for a more thorough analysis of the hellishness that is a major shopping center in December. Still, no discussion of the horrors of yule are complete without considering the close quarters demanded by the season. Between the spread of airborne diseases (or worse, if you’re an employed elf like in David Cronenberg’s Rabid) from hacking customers, the bacteria-ridden dollar bills handed back by disgruntled employees, and the traffic you’ll encounter heading home, killer robot security guards and eight foot tall tarantulas seem more inviting than a gingerbread house. 

4. A Christmas Carol 

I have nothing but love for Charles Dickens’ original novella and the many fine film adaptations it has spawned. Still, at the heart of this morality tale is a haunting ghost story rich in desolate poverty, cancerous self isolation, and the poisonous nature of capitalism. Even the wrong-side-of-the-tracks Rizzo the Rat couldn’t stomach the final act, wherein a Bergmanesque before Bergman Grim Reaper shows Ebenezer Scrooge just how lethal a misanthropic path can be. Sure, every version features a happy ending where leading men (and sometimes women or ducks) get to dance and shout with joy, but it takes one dark and somber ride to get there. 

3. The Must-Have Toy 

Not only did the very idea of Tickle-Me-Elmo seriously injure Arnold “Jingle All the Way” Schwarzenegger’s action star cred, it also led manufacturers to spearhead an annual ambush of saturating--actually, teasing--the market with always expensive, often baffling, and sometimes terrifying creations of evil toymakers’ fancies (Furbies, shudder). It’s a nasty ploy that does little more than turn child against parent, parent against paycheck, and ravenous consumers against all that’s good in human nature. Then again, without Cabbage Patch Kids, we’d probably never have Gremlins, so I guess we can accept the idea as a necessary evil.


2. The Big Brotherness of Santa Claus

Silent Night, Deadly Night. Santa’s Slay . Christmas Evil . Santa Claws. There’s a reason most holiday-themed horror films cast Kris Kringle as a villain with an all-too literal take on his naughty list. It’s the very idea of one man who “sees you when you’re sleeping” deciding the fate of children across the world, judging their character and invading their homes to carry out his decree. Look at 1959’s rather terrible film, Santa Claus (or better yet, just watch the MST3K coverage for a far better time) to see what I always envisioned the demigod’s lair to look like: a control station filled with security cameras that trace the movements of every child eligible for stocking stuffers.  

1. Carol of the Bells 

Beautifully melodic, harmoniously haunting, aggressively threatening. This popular Christmas carol is a staple of church choirs, middle school glee clubs, and animated specials but listen to a good cover while shivering in the dark on a cold winter’s night and watch the hairs on your blanket wrapped arm rise in fear. There’s something about the forceful accenting that feels oddly confrontational, with the minor key composing lending a vaguely menacing mood that builds with each verse. If the high notes were solidified, I firmly believe they’d take on the form of blank staring children dressed preciously for Midnight Mass while chasing anyone listening through a barren and snowy landscape with tiny ice picks. 

So am I wimpier than Tiny Tim, or is Xmas time far more terrifying than Frosty wants us to believe?

There's a Party In My Armpit and Everyone's Invited!

Since flu season/a month of chocolate covered Santas is upon us, it seemed appropriate to revisit the work of a man who always makes me thankful for the body I've got. Sure, I may have a tickle in my throat and lack the Ivory Soap sanctioned skin of Marilyn Chambers, but at least you won't find an Ironside-sized headache spinning my brain or vaginal VHS insertion strip growing out of my stomach.

And so, to celebrate December, I give you David Cronenberg’s Rabid. 

Don’t look at me like that. The film has snow. And a smoking elf. Plus pornography, popped collars, and plastic surgery. What could be more seasonal?

Quick Plot: A young couple on a motorcycle flip themselves into a nasty accident but thankfully--or not--they land close to the Keloid Center, a plastic surgery clinic on the cutting (moohahaha) edge of experimentation. Driver Hart Read is treated and sent home but girlfriend Rose (Marilyn Chambers) is worse for the wear. Operations are needed, which is a bonus for Dr. Keloid, a talented surgeon itching to try out some new skin graphing technology on the unsuspecting patient.

A month or so later, the comatose Rose awakens to find a concerned doctor at her bed. Rather than call for help or morphine, she nuzzles the man into a bloody mess, later sneaking out for a little more off-premises squeezing from any creature she can get (grizzled alcoholic farmer, nonconsenting cow, etc). As we follow a few of her victims, it becomes clear that Rose is a Typhoid Mary of sorts, spreading a new strain of gooey green rabies all throughout the land of mounties and maple syrup.

Rabid marks the second full-length horror feature from David Cronenberg, and it makes a perfectly fine (although highly infectious) partner to his 1974 shocker Shivers. Both films take a deep and fluid-covered look at a toxic, almost zombie-esque disease spread through close (often suggestively sexual) human contact,. Like George Romero’s The Crazies, Rabid integrates some of the potential fear factor of martial law and the breakdown of society in the face of nearsighted scientific advancement (even mall Santa himself falls victim to what happens in a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of world), while the smaller-scaled Shivers kept the action inside one prime-meat filled apartment complex.

Neither film represents the best of Cronenberg’s canon, but both Shivers and Rabid offer prime looks at one of cinema’s most innovative filmmakers getting his start. With Rabid, Canada’s least shy director delves into the human body with what would become a trademarked sense of current advancements blending into the organic organism and creating a monster completely of its own. Sex and violence unabashedly coat each frame, but nothing feels gratuitous, nor is it pretentious in issuing any outright verdicts on medical practices or societal relations. While we can easily read Rabid as a sort of pre-meditation on plastic surgery and the AIDS crisis, it’s just as easy to sit back and wait for the next infected attack. 

High Points

Although she doesn’t quite get enough to do, Marilyn Chambers gives a nicely understated performance that 
proves the occasional stunt casting can work perfectly well when the actor in question still fits the bill

Few directors can stage such suspenseful surgery as Cronenberg. The ear lifting scene here doesn't quite rival Jeremy Irons' homemade scalpels and gynecological treatment in Dead Ringers, but it does cause for a quite a little squirming


Naturally, Cronenberg doesn't disappoint when it comes to the twisted aspects of body horror. Even though we’re now aware that Rose is stabbing or bleeding the men and women she grabs, it’s still quite shocking to get our first glimpse of (SPOILER ALERT) the sharply phallic armpit sword inside one nasty and poorly placed vaginal opening

Low Points

Like a lot of Cronenberg characters, Rose is drawn rather thin. Perhaps this was intentional in making her a less specific person, but it’s hard to know how to feel about Rose’s changed behavior when we don’t know a thing about her life before the accident.


In a combination of a stale character and a dull performance, Frank Moore's Read brings the film to a slow and creaky halt every time he takes center stage

Lessons Learned

Hitchhiking is a great way to meet some very kind drivers' license carriers in Canada. Likewise, traffic cops north of the border are just so darn nice.

Smooth Eddy always looks good

It's hard enough to pick up a woman when you're dressed like an elf, so always be sure to pack some sort of conversation incentive. Cigarettes help (in the '70s), but one can't really expect full wooing without a light


A good trucker never hits a man with glasses

If you’re looking to meet men at a porno theater, make sure you buy a small popcorn to share (even if you can’t actually eat any pieces yourself)

Rent/Bury/Buy

Any genre fan has something of a responsibility to fully absorb the horrifically headiness of Cronenbergia, and Rabid is worth a watch on that premise alone. It’s not nearly as frightening as the masterful buildup of The Brood or quite as intelligent as something like Videodrome, but Rabid is still a fascinating ride into an intelligently rich cinema with a very specifically Cronenbergian twist. The DVD includes a filmmaker commentary, as well as a candid nterview which is really just one more excuse to hear Cronenberg discuss his early films, Canadian censorship, and the casting of Chambers. Stick the film on your queue and save it for one of those movie nights when you want something a little smarter than your average genre flick, yet still feel like watching zombie-esque vampiric Canadians chomp on straphangers and station wagon-driving chauffeurs.

Grandmother, What Big Teeth You Have

First, the bad news:
There are no grandmothers to be found in Rabid Grannies. Nor is there rabies. Our two sweet nonagenarians do become monstercized, but as demons more akin to Anjelica Huston’s Grand High Witch and far removed from poor Old Yeller. Also, they’re aunts.

Now the good: Rabid Grannies is fun, plain and simple. Not a classic and 99% not frightening, but this Troma distributed Belgium horror does provide 90 minutes of gooey kills and occasionally clever jokes, all at the expense of a humorously unlikable extended family that the world could do well without.


Quick Plot: In a picturesque European village, two sweet and wealthy old ladies--one resembling a softer Elaine Stritch and the other a poor man’s Betty White--and their Chaucer-esque house staff prepare for their dual birthday party. Meanwhile, a vast collection of money grubbing nieces and nephews make their ways to the secluded mansion for the annual inheritance baiting kiss-up competition. We slog through a funny but definitely overlong 40 minute introduction to the nastiness of these would-be heirs, including a horny playboy, a fat dildo maker, a WMDs dealer with possible blood ties to Timothy Dalton, the world’s worst lesbian, a squirmy priest, and a few more characters in need of a good demon eating. The real horror would be meeting the family black sheep (because how much worse could it get?), but instead, the unseen disinherited Satanist sends a mysterious smoking box to his not-so-beloved aunties.

Finally, after one performance of Greensleeves and plenty of pointed squabbling, our senior citizenettes are transformed into man-hungry monsters with Deadite senses of humor. After a few quick kills, our characters find themselves separated into mixed groups, all the better to show their true, mostly cowardly colors. A few heroes/heroines emerge, but more importantly, the oilier folks die painful yet creative deaths, sometimes involving post-mortem blinking.


High Points
The initial transformation and first kill are, agreeable to the little boy’s assertion, “smashing!”

The fate of Belgium’s least loved priest comes in a funny yet surprisingly disturbing scene with a rewarding payoff


You just can’t go wrong when you toss a child’s limbs down a staircase


Low Points
The ridiculously simple seduction of the heroic lesbian by the smarmiest of sleazebags is just plain offensive

Lessons Learned
Having your hand chopped off is no big deal, since it will be immediately bandaged in an impossibly fast cut


Never inhale a gift from someone that hates you

Opera singers sober up quickly when pursued by elderly demons


WMDs have come a long way since 1988

Rent/Bury/Buy
I have a special nostalgia for Rabid Grannies, as I can recall the gleeful rental during my judge-a-film-by-its-title days of yore (okay, first, those days are far from over as witnessed by my queuing of The Sinful Dwarf and second, this phase is dangerous as witness to my less than stellar Gourmet Zombie Chef From Hell experience). Does it hold up? Yes, in that it’s just as much fun as I remember. Although this was distributed, and not produced by Troma, all the standards are there, including gratuitous nudity, colorful gore, and hit-or-miss jokes. Rabid Grannies won’t change your life, but it will give you something to smile about. The DVD is packed with extras (or so I hear, since I used the Netflix Watch Now service) so a well-priced release could easily warm your shelf with senior citizen scariness.


Not Stritch:

Stritch: