Hate Christmas? The makers of this sleazy English thriller might hate it, too. There’s a killer in the streets and he’s targeting men in Santa Claus suits. He’ll take a razor to their face, eyeballs or genitals, whatever’s handy at the moment. The grizzled men of New Scotland Yard are short on clues, but the movie drops its hints on the audience like anvils because director/actor Edmund Purdom doesn’t care much about the big murder mystery. The story is muddled and clumsy, but in true pulp fashion, this is more about the splatter-happy violence and gratuitous nudity. Much like how there are seedy 80s New York City movies and seedy 80s Los Angeles movies, this is a seedy 80s London movie. Dank and shadowy alleys. Peep shows. Punks and drunks in the street. Porn photography studios. An ugly, exploitative, dangerous feeling in the air. The perfect place for a mad masked slasher of Santas to thrive. It’s not a great movie, but it’s got its charms. Best moment: Caroline Munro’s cameo as the singer in a Eurotrash disco band.