Holiday Movie Category: Bad Santa Movies Make Baby Jesus Cry (Except for Bad Santa)
THE CARD:
Days of Our Porn Lives, the biggest X-mas creep since Scut Farkus, the return of the Coopers, soundtrack by Cat Walking on a Casio, boobies, boobies, BOOBIES, and more X-mas joy than a December stay in a Kosovo death camp.
More details here.
THE ANGLE:
One X-mas Eve, a kid is sleeping in his living room waiting for Santa. Suddenly, he’s awakened by noises from the rooftop, only it’s not the hoof claps of tiny reindeer. It’s a big fat guy banging his Mom harder than Lou Ferrigno’s front door. And of course the natural reaction to seeing Mom get some (besides a crying fetal position and hysterical laughter) is picking up a gun and filling them full of holes. Years later, the kid grows up to be uber-weirdo Wayne (Grant Kramer), next door neighbor to Raven Quinn (Debbie Rochon), a softcore porn actress and former zoologist (Ha!) whose marriage to a fashion photographer is in trouble. Wayne is obsessed with her, buys the Raven Quinn lovedoll, and creepily coos sweetnothings to it every night. Sensing trouble in her marriage, Wayne takes advantage of the situation and makes a move. But Raven the direct-to-video whore is really a misunderstood sweetheart who just wants to reconcile with her estranged husband. So Wayne starts offing people who may stand in the way of his goal including a sleazy porn producer, a teensy porn queen, a couple douchebags, and some other doofs, leading to an uproarious death scene of mammoth thespian flexing unseen since my Dawson’s Creek audition tape.
THE FINISHER:
Poor John A. Russo. The man helped create one of horror’s iconic films, the 1968 zombie classic Night of the Living Dead, and has since been unable to live up to it in a career spanning multiple video cheapies. Poor, poor John A. Russo. In his “film” Santa Claws, he has sunk to a new low. He rounded up old friends Marilyn Eastman (Night’s Mrs. Cooper) and Karl Hardman (Mr. Cooper), some local strippers, actors picked from a 7-11, and a crappy home video camera to shoot this boring, incomprehensible, adlibbed, bungling, and flat-out disingenuous Santa slasher. The movie really is just an excuse to frame a flimsy horror story around overlong striptease sequences without any self-conscious humor or subtlety. But I do have to say that the frequent appearance of stripper boobies broke up the tedium. It’s not even fun to riff on as you’re constantly scratching your head trying to figure out what each scene (and the scene before it) had anything to do with anything! But the biggest crime this movie has committed, beside a complete waste of 83 minutes, is that there's zero gore. Santa goes around killing folks with a $.99 gardening rake. Oh, the horror! Done in by a Garden Weasal! The only saving grace is seeing Living Dead vets Eastman, Hardman, Russo and Bill Hinzman unearthed for cameo appearances. So steer clear if you see this jingle turd coming to your town.
THE CARD:Days of Our Porn Lives, the biggest X-mas creep since Scut Farkus, the return of the Coopers, soundtrack by Cat Walking on a Casio, boobies, boobies, BOOBIES, and more X-mas joy than a December stay in a Kosovo death camp.
More details here.
THE ANGLE:
One X-mas Eve, a kid is sleeping in his living room waiting for Santa. Suddenly, he’s awakened by noises from the rooftop, only it’s not the hoof claps of tiny reindeer. It’s a big fat guy banging his Mom harder than Lou Ferrigno’s front door. And of course the natural reaction to seeing Mom get some (besides a crying fetal position and hysterical laughter) is picking up a gun and filling them full of holes. Years later, the kid grows up to be uber-weirdo Wayne (Grant Kramer), next door neighbor to Raven Quinn (Debbie Rochon), a softcore porn actress and former zoologist (Ha!) whose marriage to a fashion photographer is in trouble. Wayne is obsessed with her, buys the Raven Quinn lovedoll, and creepily coos sweetnothings to it every night. Sensing trouble in her marriage, Wayne takes advantage of the situation and makes a move. But Raven the direct-to-video whore is really a misunderstood sweetheart who just wants to reconcile with her estranged husband. So Wayne starts offing people who may stand in the way of his goal including a sleazy porn producer, a teensy porn queen, a couple douchebags, and some other doofs, leading to an uproarious death scene of mammoth thespian flexing unseen since my Dawson’s Creek audition tape.
THE FINISHER:
Poor John A. Russo. The man helped create one of horror’s iconic films, the 1968 zombie classic Night of the Living Dead, and has since been unable to live up to it in a career spanning multiple video cheapies. Poor, poor John A. Russo. In his “film” Santa Claws, he has sunk to a new low. He rounded up old friends Marilyn Eastman (Night’s Mrs. Cooper) and Karl Hardman (Mr. Cooper), some local strippers, actors picked from a 7-11, and a crappy home video camera to shoot this boring, incomprehensible, adlibbed, bungling, and flat-out disingenuous Santa slasher. The movie really is just an excuse to frame a flimsy horror story around overlong striptease sequences without any self-conscious humor or subtlety. But I do have to say that the frequent appearance of stripper boobies broke up the tedium. It’s not even fun to riff on as you’re constantly scratching your head trying to figure out what each scene (and the scene before it) had anything to do with anything! But the biggest crime this movie has committed, beside a complete waste of 83 minutes, is that there's zero gore. Santa goes around killing folks with a $.99 gardening rake. Oh, the horror! Done in by a Garden Weasal! The only saving grace is seeing Living Dead vets Eastman, Hardman, Russo and Bill Hinzman unearthed for cameo appearances. So steer clear if you see this jingle turd coming to your town.
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