Right. Wow. Okay. 'Don't Open Till Christmas' looks like it was made on the hoof with borrowed equipment in about two days. The script is full of holes; scenes are either too short, too long or missing entirely; the performances are inept; the settings a succession of deserted alleys, rented halls, borrowed flats and a couple of London landmarks after the tourists have pissed off home. But where else can you see Father Christmas get his cock cut off?
Written by exploitation serial offender Derek Ford, this tawdry concoction was directed by Edmund Purdom, a British actor of the fifties who was once a household name without ever really being in anything successful. Purdom is an awful director, the sort who points his camera at the New Scotland Yard sign to establish where we are and that it is day, then holds the shot for a very long time before arbitarily cutting to an office that is clearly not New Scotland Yard and, somehow, it's now night.
As well as 'directing' Purdom also stars as the police inspector trying to track down a psycho who really has it in for blokes in Santa suits. One gets knifed, one gets speared through the mouth, one selling chestnuts has his face pressed against the hot plate then is garroted and left to catch fire. Eyes are detached, arteries spurt, guts drop out and, yes, cocks get cut off. It's a hoot. When the killer is asked just why he hates men dressed up like Saint Nick he simply replies 'because they remind me of Christmas'. Fair enough, Sir, you're free to go.
Other notable elements include a look at how the London Dungeon used to look in the olden days, the usually sexy Caroline Munro and her awful band performing a really shitty song, and lots of snatched / stolen footage of Londoners getting ready for Xmas. It's cheap, it's gory, it's sexist, it's trashy - it's recommended.