Billy is a deranged killer locked away in a mental institution. It’s Christmas, and all he wants is to “come home for the holidays”—to a sorority house full of moody but attractive teenage girls. Unsurprisingly, Billy escapes, and a new trail of bodies quickly follows wherever he goes.
The original Black Christmas from 1974 is considered a prototype of the slasher genre. Like many horror classics, it eventually received the inevitable remake after the millennium.
What’s impressive—though not in a good way—is how this remake manages to strip away everything that made the original so effective. The eerie tension, the fear of the unknown, and the creeping atmosphere are all gone. In their place, we get an overexplained, overwrought backstory filled with absurd nonsense. Not only is the plot ridiculous and implausible, but the execution is equally questionable. Green trees in winter? Snow that looks like pillow stuffing? A small icicle piercing a human skull? Come on—even Americans know better than that.
Director Glen Morgan delivers his second feature film here, and considering his first was the dismal Willard remake, it’s not exactly shocking that this is another misfire. One wonders if he has a fetish for ruining horror classics. Let’s hope not—because we don’t need more remakes like this.
Black Christmas (2006) shares almost nothing with its 1974 namesake—not in story, not in tone, and certainly not in quality. Do yourself a favour: skip this one and rewatch the original.
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