Silent Night, Deadly Night 3
Silent Night, Deadly Night part 3 sadly ends the Santa slaying saga of Billy and Ricky. Ricky’s all pooped out from his hysterical “garbage day” massacre and finds himself sitting in coma with his brain in a Tupperware container while playing guinea pig to a mad scientist with a hard on for ESP. Of all the people to choose to give *telepathetical powers the genius in charge chooses a psychotic serial killer. Well played kind of, sort of mad scientist guy!
Soon enough Ricky is ESP broadcasting his holiday hang-ups to anybody willing to tune in, and tune in someone does. A blind chick with natural psychic abilities gets a full facial of Ricky’s heebie jeebies, a psychic link is made, and Ricky wakes up from his comatose on Christmas Eve in time to kill off a drunken Santa by his hospital bed.
Someone keeps pumping the brakes on this movie. The trash train begins rolling, Ricky begins to methodically make his way to the blind chick’s grandma’s house, people take cat naps, there’s some mildly amusing banter about car phones, some mildly amusing if not sappy brother/sister dialogue, and some mildly amusing shots of a guy with his brain in a plastic container hitch hiking and killing folks, but it’s all kind of vanilla. Someone pass the Dr. Pepper, this Christmas party needs a jolt! Even when people die they don’t look as surprised as they are relieved that something exciting happened to them. If the first entry was an all out dash for sleaze greatness this was the puttering sleepwalk through the finish line. It’s nothing to hoot about, then again it does have a killer with a brain dome, a blind psychic that spends all her time listening to The Terror on television, Canadian tuxedos, and actresses that look too much alike, so it’s worth giving a spin on a lazy Sunday, especially if you’re a fan of the first couple entries. On a Christmas pastry scale, this ranks somewhere next to fruit cake.
Soon enough Ricky is ESP broadcasting his holiday hang-ups to anybody willing to tune in, and tune in someone does. A blind chick with natural psychic abilities gets a full facial of Ricky’s heebie jeebies, a psychic link is made, and Ricky wakes up from his comatose on Christmas Eve in time to kill off a drunken Santa by his hospital bed.
Someone keeps pumping the brakes on this movie. The trash train begins rolling, Ricky begins to methodically make his way to the blind chick’s grandma’s house, people take cat naps, there’s some mildly amusing banter about car phones, some mildly amusing if not sappy brother/sister dialogue, and some mildly amusing shots of a guy with his brain in a plastic container hitch hiking and killing folks, but it’s all kind of vanilla. Someone pass the Dr. Pepper, this Christmas party needs a jolt! Even when people die they don’t look as surprised as they are relieved that something exciting happened to them. If the first entry was an all out dash for sleaze greatness this was the puttering sleepwalk through the finish line. It’s nothing to hoot about, then again it does have a killer with a brain dome, a blind psychic that spends all her time listening to The Terror on television, Canadian tuxedos, and actresses that look too much alike, so it’s worth giving a spin on a lazy Sunday, especially if you’re a fan of the first couple entries. On a Christmas pastry scale, this ranks somewhere next to fruit cake.
Silent Night Deadly Night 4
Silent Night, Deadly Night part 4 is a completely batshit crazy departure from the previous entries. It takes place during Christmas but really has little to do with the holiday itself. Rather its main focus is on black magic, cock roaches, women liberation, cult ritual, and Clint Howard’s dildo helmet. Seriously.
I’ve watched this film twice and still haven’t really figured it out. It begins with a women spontaneously combusting from the waist down and throwing herself off of a building. Not bad. A female reporter who feels like she is being discriminated against in her office and home because of her gender and because of her Jewishness investigates the scene of the combustible woman. So far we’re on track. She runs into Clint Howard who shows her a giant insect larvae, then runs into a book store where an older woman comes on to her like a raging softball playing bull dyke and feeds her dried up dates. I’m getting dizzy. She picks up a book about magic from the book store and begins seeing cockroaches and spirals in her kitchen condiments. My head feels light. She goes out for a picnic with the book store owner and her pals and begins hallucinating about even more insects and spirals. My brain begins eating itself. She learns she is being recruited into a witch coven that wishes to free her from her worse fears, which would result in her being free of the male patriarchal order, but first she needs to ingest and puke up a giant cockroach, get fucked by Clint Howard’s dildo helmet, roll around a slimy meat locker while changing into a larvae creature, or suffer a fiery spontaneous body explosion from the waist down. Blood erupts from my ear drums in a crimson waterfall. This is either one of the most brilliant pieces of cinematic trash the world has ever seen or an exercise in completely senseless befuddlement. I can’t decide, my brain is still in a sloppy puddle of gray goo at my feet.
I’ve watched this film twice and still haven’t really figured it out. It begins with a women spontaneously combusting from the waist down and throwing herself off of a building. Not bad. A female reporter who feels like she is being discriminated against in her office and home because of her gender and because of her Jewishness investigates the scene of the combustible woman. So far we’re on track. She runs into Clint Howard who shows her a giant insect larvae, then runs into a book store where an older woman comes on to her like a raging softball playing bull dyke and feeds her dried up dates. I’m getting dizzy. She picks up a book about magic from the book store and begins seeing cockroaches and spirals in her kitchen condiments. My head feels light. She goes out for a picnic with the book store owner and her pals and begins hallucinating about even more insects and spirals. My brain begins eating itself. She learns she is being recruited into a witch coven that wishes to free her from her worse fears, which would result in her being free of the male patriarchal order, but first she needs to ingest and puke up a giant cockroach, get fucked by Clint Howard’s dildo helmet, roll around a slimy meat locker while changing into a larvae creature, or suffer a fiery spontaneous body explosion from the waist down. Blood erupts from my ear drums in a crimson waterfall. This is either one of the most brilliant pieces of cinematic trash the world has ever seen or an exercise in completely senseless befuddlement. I can’t decide, my brain is still in a sloppy puddle of gray goo at my feet.
BLACK CHRISTMAS is really Bob Clark’s anti-Christmas movie because it is about abortion and murder during a time when people are in celebration of Jesus’ symbolic birth. The abortion of Claire’s baby is really the utter destruction of Christmas cheer. Maybe it’s Bob Clark’s way of saying “sorry for all the Christmas Story reruns on PBS”.
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Sorry about the lack of updates my miserable misfits of the video wasteland. The cryptkeeper is enjoying his winter hibernation under the dark soil of Camp Blackfoot.....but in 2012 the bodies begin dropping again....the horror returns...you've been warned!
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