Film Review — "Deathcember"

I’m so glad that scary anthologies are making a comeback. Body Bags, Trilogy of Terror, The Vault of Horror, Creepshow, Creepshow 2… These are just a few of the flicks I remember catching late at night on TV in my youth, staying up as long as I could. The great thing about watching a collection of short films on cable as a sleepy child is being able to pass out in good conscience after a story or two, knowing that you can catch the rest the next time it airs. I was always fascinated by how the stories were linked—whether it be conceptually, or with overlapping narratives, or via a zany host. Some collections have no through-line whatsoever, and that’s sometimes okay, but, as a homosexual, I love a tangible theme.

So last week, in the final days of 2020, I could not think of a more appropriate way to round out that godforsaken year and bid fucking adieu to a horrible Christmas season than a holiday-themed horror anthology—and Deathcember is quite literally an advent calendar of short horror films: twenty-four stories using December festivities as the common thread. There is no host figure per se, but between each film is an animated segue that leads us through the next numbered “door.” As is the case with a lot of story collections, there are several strikeouts, but a few of the films contained within hit home for me. Even the clever motif at the core of it all resonated with bitter ole me.

Nabi Tang in “Aurora” (dir. Lazar Bodroza)

You see, we sold out of advent calendars at my day job about a week into December—and the entitled suburban swine who frequent my store snapped. To be honest, I never understood the appeal of advent calendars. Maybe it’s because I never had one growing up. Or maybe it’s because waiting all day just to eat one (1) teeny-tiny piece of candy is silly. Plus, excitedly counting down the days to the top capitalist holiday of the year is just so alien to me. I’ve never been a fan of Christmas; even as a kid, I was hardly ever that into it. I think it has no real meaning, and it brings out the worst in people. I’m guessing anyone who says otherwise does not work in customer service, or didn’t grow up with parents who worked in customer service.

Which is why I so adore the short directed by Michael Varrati, host of the Dead for Filth podcast and bona fide cutie patootie. In “All Sales Fatal,” a privileged mom wants to return a toy to a retail chain during the shopping season without a receipt. A situation I am too-familiar with. She wants a full refund not because the toy she bought is defective but because something newer and flashier has come out since. This reminded me tangentially of when I worked in book sales and a woman would (repeatedly) purchase a book, read it, bring it back, and exchange it for another book—essentially treating the business like a lending library. But it was all done within the perimeters of the return policy, so she got away with it. I hated her. And I hate the woman in “All Sales Fatal.” Tiffany Shepis, who plays Claire, absolutely nails the Karen persona. And Ryan Fisher, who plays the over-it floor associate who has to deal with her, is equally great. Thanks largely to Shepis and Fisher’s committed performances, Varrati’s short has a nice build. “All Sales Fatal” reaches such absurdly violent heights so quickly that it calls to mind Yorgos Lanthimos’ Dogtooth—only with a much more jocular tone. Well done, Team Varrati.

I was also reminded, during another short, of Rusty Cundieff’s Tales from the Hood—specifically the “Boys Do Get Bruised” portion, wherein a quiet child learns that his drawings have a voodoo doll-like power that he ultimately uses to vanquish his abusers. In “Milk and Cookies,” Sam Wineman’s Deathcember entry, a boy’s letters to Santa appear to have a similar otherworldly influence. You’re Next stud AJ Bowen plays a bad dad who has created a toxic household for his sensitive son. The guy doesn’t want his kid playing with a girly toy, so he seeks to destroy it, only for the son to pen a compelling note to Santa; weird stuff ensues. “Milk and Cookies” is one of the more fleshed out segments. What sets this one apart from most of the rest is that there’s a complete story—with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Wineman’s entry does not merely serve as a setup to a slapdash gag, nor does it rely on a cheeky pop culture reference. Magnificently told in just a handful of minutes, the material could easily be expanded to, say, stand alone as an episode of Tales from the Crypt—and it’d probably be a strong and heartrending installment, too.

Jose Corpas in “Joy to the Girls” (dir. Sonia Escolano)

The same cannot be said for the majority of the twenty-four films, unfortunately. Perhaps the biggest disappointment of the bunch is “They Used to Laugh and Call Him Names,” co-directed by educator and film theorist BJ Colangelo. This is one of the shorts that I was looking forward to the most, actually. As a horror fan who lived in Cleveland for nine years, I’m of course familiar with Colangelo’s writing and social media presence, and I have immense respect for her. But “They Used to Laugh and Call Him Names,” to my chagrin, is an entry that leans heavily on a pop culture gimmick… Almost a decade after directing the slasher classic Black Christmas, Bob Clark made a wholly different yuletide picture called A Christmas Story, which was shot in Cleveland in the early ’80s—it’s kind of a big deal, to Clevelanders. And it’s pretty obvious that A Christmas Story inspired this Deathcember short in terms of story, casting, and iconography. I’d be more forgiving of such an unmistakable homage if the film truly held up on its own, stripped of its influences, but it’s too clumsy and far too literally derivative to do that.

Another one that left me with a furrowed brow is Lucky McKee’s “They Once Had Horses.” Generally speaking, I’m a fan of McKee. I fucking love May; I’m also fond of The Woman and All Cheerleaders Die. So when I saw his name pop up on the short’s title card—because I had no idea beforehand that he’d contributed to this—I got super excited. Then I got a little bit bummed… Here’s the thing, “They Once Had Horses” stands out from the pack. It’s likely the most somber segment. It’s a black and white western about two cowboys under attack by something mysterious that they know they cannot vanquish, so they just wait for it to kill them. Gloomy shit, right? The title hooked me right away; it’s very reminiscent of Larry McMurtry, which is fitting because he writes existential westerns about sad men (and I cherish them). And in way, this short is very literary, in its unfolding. So, all things considered, McKee’s effort seems like it ought to be my jam. But it just… isn’t. I wonder if it would’ve landed better as a solo project, removed from an anthology. Or maybe just this anthology. Thinking back, I was already fairly jaded when the animated segue led me through that door, so my apologies to McKee. I understand the need for variety when assembling a 24-part film compendium, but the erratic nature weighs down some of the more sullen entries.

John Cook Lynch’s “Crackers,” on the other hand, thrives amid the disorder. It’s just the right amount of screwy. The conceit immediately thrusts the viewer into its madcap atmosphere. Picture the Russian Roulette scenes from The Deer Hunter, only instead of loaded handguns it’s a deadly game involving those hefty party poppers (also known as “crackers” across the pond). I found this entry’s Outer Limits vibe particularly affective, since it’s about one of my biggest fears: family game night. I’m an anxious homo who’s not competitive. So I don’t enjoy games. I’d much rather be doing something productive, like reading. And Lynch made me even more apprehensive about partaking in the reindeer games that emerge after suppertime during the holiday season, because “Crackers” is unnerving as hell. Johnny Vivash, who plays the patriarch, is so committed to his role that he made me scared for his costars, which in turn adds to the volatile energy. John Cook Lynch’s film is irrefutably crackers (a British slang term for “nuts” that Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit taught me), so I’ll definitely have to check out Eddie, the feature he directing starring Vivash.

Vince Van Gossum in “Family Matters” (dir. Steve De Roover)

If any director from this anthology deserves to make a feature film, though, it’s Vivienne Vaughn. I would happily watch whatever she creates, because “A Christmas Miracle” is across-the-board one of the more polished segments. Right off the bat, the grey-blue color palette renders a mood that’s both dreary and inherently wintery. Vaughn then goes on to demonstrate in a matter of minutes that she has a sharp eye and the resources to assemble a top-notch crew—and a stellar cast. Barbara Crampton, our reigning godmother of horror stardom, leads alongside Clarke Wolfe from Satanic Panic. And they’re both fantastic. Crampton is serving looks, as the kids say, thusly the “A Christmas Miracle” wardrobe and makeup teams deserve extra kudos, because 1.) I want that cloak, and 2.) the SFX makeup is super impressive. So, if I had to select just one Deathcember auteur, Vaughn would wholeheartedly be my choice to helm a full-length picture, no doubt. She’s miles ahead of most of the directors here, by a sizable margin.

Watching Deathcember proved to be a rather exhausting endeavor. The majority of the entries are relatively so-so, with a few ringers and a smattering of doozies sprinkled in. I’m of two minds when it comes to the unevenness of it all. First off, this is a two and a half hour compendium comprised of twenty-four miniature movies, so there needed to be diversity in execution. I get that, because otherwise things would get stale fast. And, thankfully, there is indeed an array of languages, tones, styles, and sub-genres… Then again, the variety here also appears in the form of, well, quality. To be fair, it’s clear that not everyone had the same budget, which accounts for some lack of cohesion. Money in art is not everything, but it definitely helps, for sure. But even beyond the cash situation, I have a feeling there wasn’t much governance, in general, from the studio. So, the folks in charge of this were either very optimistic or just plain foolhardy to think that it would all magically jell.

Look, I will always vouch for anthologies—and short films, period. They were a huge part of my early horror fan days, and I want them to be a part of another whippersnapper’s youth, too, even if late-night cable broadcasts are not how the kids are watching movies anymore. Anthologies have so much potential to do things that your standard feature film cannot, and there are a couple more on my docket that I’m excited to get to. I’m hoping The Mortuary Collection and Nightmare Cinema do more for me when I see them. Because Deathcember is not a good example of what a horror anthology can achieve.