UNWRAPPING THE GIFT OF BLACK CHRISTMAS (1974)
A SPOILERIFIC review Of A CHRISTMAS CLASSIC

In the mid-90s, NBC secured the exclusive rights to air It’s a Wonderful Life during the holiday season, leaving a programming gap for competing networks to fill. That gap was quickly stuffed with the period comedy A Christmas Story, which went on to dominate holiday TV schedules. Airing in marathons, it became the perfect backdrop for families unwrapping gifts. There was something about the way director Bob Clark shot the snowy streets of the Midwest, the twinkling lights, and crackling fireplaces that captivated everyone—even a Texas boy like myself. Clark just understood the feeling of the Christmas season.
More interestingly, Bob Clark also helmed another Christmas-themed film an entire decade earlier— one that, in my opinion, stands as one of the finest horror films ever made: Black Christmas (1974). I adore this movie with a top four letterbox kind of adoration. Picture the same enchanting, nostalgic aesthetic of A Christmas Story, but with a chilling, paranoid slasher twist. Black Christmas harbors a kind of unsettling magic that’s both oddly comforting and terrifying at the same time.

It’s a pioneering example of the slasher subgenre which had yet to really evolve into the popular, influential force it became in the 1980s. Surprisingly, for a slasher, the gore is virtually nonexistent. However, Clark masterfully inserts a pervasive sense of dread that hovers over the plot like thick Christmas garland. So if you’re looking for a nightmare before Christmas, buckle up.
Gist is, a sorority house receives a series of phone calls in which a crazed stranger harasses and threatens the women that reside there. The source of the calls is quickly revealed to be a psychopath dwelling in the attic who thrashes about, erupting in fits of madness and role playing family trauma, occasionally slinking down from the attic to claim a victim. Clever use of point-of-view invites a constant tension throughout the film and the killer’s identity remains shrouded in mystery. We’re only given a name, Billy, whose motive is never fully explained. Billy is always obscured in the shadows, peering through a door jamb, or through a plastic bag, which not only terrifying, but adds to the whodunit element cleverly woven into the story.

Additionally, the movie feels strikingly progressive for its era, not only in how the plot influenced future slashers, but also in its feminist critique of male rage, the way it tackles abortion and autonomy, and its inclusion of complex, empowered women — women who are funny, who boldly stand up against an incompetent police response, and who, despite finding solidarity in a shared housing environment, still remain vulnerable to the senseless indignation and violence of men.
Black Christmas opens with a wide shot of a bustling Canadian sorority house, bathed in the warm glow of festive lights but viewed through the eyes of a mystery heavy breather who makes his way up the lattice towards the attic. “Hey, who left the goddamned front door open?”, Barb (Superman’s Margot Kidder) asks. Well, in a bustling sorority house during a Christmas party, it could be anyone. An easy thing to overlook, but a grave mistake, it turns out.
The majority of the sorority sisters are prepared to leave for holiday break with a few staying back to hunker down with their tipsy house mother, Mac. She fumbles around the home talking to herself, searching in clever secret stashes where she hides half-drunk bottles of whiskey that keep her comically unaware of the lurking, imminent danger upstairs.

The phone calls begin, first with frantic heaving and horny taunts, but slick-tongued Barb finding it humorous barks back, prompting a death threat from Billy — a promise he later keeps. For his first kill, he lurks quietly in sweet Claire’s closet as she packs a suitcase for holiday. We watch her through the plastic of a dry cleaning bag until Billy pounces, suffocating her and propping her corpse in a rocking chair where her dead gaze can peer through the attic window.
A frantic search begins among the sisters and community members in the snow, yet, for some reason, never in the attic. As tension builds, the remaining sisters grow increasingly paranoid and suspicious of the men around them—particularly Jess’s (Olivia Hussey) boyfriend Peter. After Jess reveals her plans to terminate her pregnancy, Peter reacts by performing a sweaty piano overture, only to destroy the instrument in a fit of fury.
The film takes its time after Claire’s death to focus on important character development, making the upcoming kills all the more impactful. Billy’s Christmastime carnage continues, with his phone calls growing increasingly unhinged. He impales Mac with a pulley hook, hanging her up like an ornament, and later, he repeatedly stabs Barb while holding a glass figurine, the sounds of her screams drowned out by the voices of visiting carolers.
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In a climactic ending, the police finally inform Jess that the calls are coming from inside her home, causing her to panic and fatally strike Peter with a fireplace poker in the basement. A stunned Jess is later put to rest in her room as the police wrap up the crime scene, presumably having found their culprit dead. But as the house falls silent again, laughter emanates from the attic. “It’s me, Billy,” he says, and making another phone call downstairs.
If you haven’t experienced Black Christmas, it’s time to unwrap this Christmas classic. An all time fave, this twisted take on the Holidays holds strong today and should be included in your holiday go-to’s. So don your pajamas and light the fireplace because the comfort of Christmas can be found even in a horror movie.
BY: PATRICK LENARD