Cult Film Review: Black Christmas (1974)
Directed by Bob Clark
Written by Roy Moore
Produced by Bob Clark
Cast: Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, John Saxon, Marian Waldman, Andrea Martin, Art Hindle, etc.
Cinematography by Reginald H. Morris
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Black Christmas (1974) remains a cornerstone of cult horror, steeped in creeping dread thanks to director Bob Clark’s unnerving ability to build eerie atmospherics. As a series of obscene phone calls begin to plague a sorority house, the film patiently tightens the noose, revealing that a psychopath is homing in on the “sisters” with sinister intent. Even as the police attempt to trace the calls, Clark toys with perception, suggesting that nothing—and no one—is quite what it seems.
Beyond its surface-level shocks, Black Christmas reveals a surprisingly progressive and unsettling thematic undercurrent. The film’s menace is deeply entangled with ideas of toxic masculinity: male entitlement, surveillance, and violence seep into almost every threat faced by the women. The killer’s obscene phone calls aren’t just frightening—they’re exercises in domination, attempts to invade private space through verbal abuse and sexualised rage. Even ostensibly “normal” male authority figures are depicted as dismissive, incompetent, or quietly threatening, reinforcing the sense that danger is systemic rather than anomalous.
Most striking for its era is the film’s pro-choice stance. Jess’s determination to have an abortion—presented as a firm, rational decision rather than a moral failing—grounds the horror in real-world anxiety. Her boyfriend’s furious reaction exposes a fragile masculinity rooted in ownership and expectation, aligning emotional coercion with the film’s broader atmosphere of male control. Horror here isn’t just the killer in the attic; it’s the social pressure bearing down on women’s autonomy.
Familial breakdown also looms large. The sorority house functions as a fractured surrogate family, one that offers warmth and camaraderie but ultimately fails to protect its members. Traditional structures—parents, police, institutions—are either absent, drunk, or found wanting, leaving the women isolated within spaces that should be safe. This erosion of trust amplifies the film’s dread, making the violence feel inescapable.
The ambiguous ending remains divisive. By denying the audience catharsis or moral resolution, director Bob Clark leaves the horror unresolved, lingering long after the credits roll. For some viewers, this refusal to “close the case” is profoundly unsettling; for others, it risks dissatisfaction, as the absence of narrative justice feels incomplete rather than subversive. Yet it’s arguably this very lack of closure that cements Black Christmas’s power. The evil isn’t vanquished—it’s merely unseen, waiting—an idea that would echo loudly through the genre and unsettle audiences for decades to come.
Standout performances from wise-cracking Margot Kidder, ethereal Olivia Hussey, and the intensely unsettling Keir Dullea elevate the material. Revisiting the film after a twenty years hiatus, I felt the fear factor is occasionally undercut by arguably silly humour and moments of heightened over-acting. Yet, its influence is undeniable—paving the way for filmmakers like John Carpenter, who would refine and surpass its template with the classic Halloween (1978).
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