‘Black Christmas’ (1974) Makes for a Holiday Horror Tradition
I’ve written before about the key role horror movies played in my upbringing. Before I could even do my multiplication tables, I was popping a squat in front of the television to watch Chucky the Killer Doll slice his way through military school brats. Did it scare me? Absolutely. Was I too afraid to go into our Maryland basement alone, convinced Chucky was hiding down there in the shadows waiting to kill me, too? Also absolutely. But for all the fear and anxiety, it was the communal experience—bonding with my mom and siblings—that solidified the rituals. Horror remains a point of reference for my partner and me. Weekends, holidays, and even anniversaries are commemorated with scary movies.
Undoubtedly, my favorite tradition is an annual rewatch of Black Christmas. Every Thanksgiving, after the dishes are done and the kitchen is clean (I’m a Virgo, so you better believe that kitchen needs to be spotless before I can unwind), every member of my family sits down to watch Bob Clark’s holiday slasher classic. As the family grows year after year, it’s an opportunity to welcome someone new. For the perennials, it’s a reminder of what the holiday season, stripped of its ugly capitalistic impulses, really, truly means.
Also Read: Jess’s Choice: How ‘Black Christmas’ (1974) Responsibly Addresses Abortion And Bodily Autonomy
Black Christmas is certainly a classic, but for some burgeoning horror fans, it remains an elusive title. I watched The Descent in fifth grade, having logged a hundred YouTube views for its trailer online beforehand. Yet, it took me until my senior year of high school to track down Black Christmas and give it a watch. Reasonably, younger horror fans often start working their way through horror history in reverse. If it was released in the early aughts, there was little doubt I’d seen it. Nine Lives with Paris Hilton? Obviously. Do You Wanna Know a Secret? Of course, I’ve seen it! Black Christmas, released in 1974, was far back on the list.
I still remember the first time I watched it. I’d gotten the DVD from Netflix (remember that?) and was anxiously anticipating it all day. After a day of school and flipping cheesesteaks, I got home, undressed, and slid into bed with my old MacBook (purchased with the cheesesteak money). It had a CD drive (remember that?). For 98 minutes, I was enraptured. Black Christmas was the scariest thing I think I’d ever seen. It was austere and matter-of-fact. It was frequently very funny, but the verisimilitude of sorority slaughter was hard to shake. This was a slasher that didn’t feel like a slasher, at least not the ensemble classics I’d grown up with. The victims felt like real people while A. Roy Moore’s dialogue was smart but never disingenuously clever.
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Naturally, I wanted to talk about it with anyone I could. Outside of family, those options were limited. Horror and community are inextricably linked, but as a closeted queer person growing up in rural Maryland, I was missing a key part of the equation. My community was limited to IMDB message boards (remember that?) and random online forums. It wasn’t until years later after my parents divorced and my family moved to Florida, that the tradition really took hold.
Black Christmas slowly slipped from my memory until I was assigned a paper for my Film and Genre class. We were discussing transnational cinema right before Thanksgiving, and our final paper was poised to be an analysis of a movie not from the United States. Black Christmas is Canadian. It’s almost Christmas? Why not, I reasoned. Years later, it remains a holiday staple. Yes, Thanksgiving means gathering together. It means plenty of food and a little more arguing (in good spirits, I promise). It also means Black Christmas. Everyone knows the post-dinner tradition. Grab some pie, pick a seat, and prepare to be wowed.
Also Read: Is the House in ‘Black Christmas’ the Best Character in the Movie? [Horror Reel Estate]
It might seem deeply inconsequential on the surface, but it remains one of my favorite moments of the year. It’s not only consistent, but it’s more meaningful to me than most rituals. As everyone gets older, lives and trajectories change. We spend less and less time together. Daily calls might become weekly. During the hustle and bustle of the year, it’s easy to get stressed about money, work, and everything else. Those moments, those little pockets of peace, are harder to come by. In my family, I’m grateful for what we’ve managed to do. Alongside the turkey, we’ve carved out a holiday horror tradition by way of Black Christmas. That’s what this time of year really, truly means to me.
What about you? Do you and your loved ones, whoever they might be, have a holiday horror tradition? Let me know over on Twitter @Chadiscollins. And to you and yours, have a safe and happy holiday.
Categorized:Editorials
