David Steiman’s Christmas horror comedy is worth an evening if festive bad taste is the plan. Bill Goldberg’s Santa and the bright storybook look are good company; the central joke is decidedly thin.
There is a pleasing lack of embarrassment about Santa’s Slay. Writer and director David Steiman treats a satanic Santa as an excuse for broad comedy and seasonal violence, and the film works at that modest level. Its surprise is the cheerfulness: nudity, profanity and bloodshed do remarkably little to sour the Christmas mood. We would recommend it for an evening of festive bad taste, with no expectation that it will make the season frightening.
Bill Goldberg is the main reason the joke survives. His Santa is so excessive that the performance scarcely leaves room for unease, and the film benefits from that lack of restraint. The humour is broad, sometimes barely more than the sight of the familiar festive figure behaving appallingly. Yet Bill Goldberg commits to the part without asking us to congratulate him for being in on the joke, and that is a useful quality in a film whose central idea can be understood almost immediately.
Matthew F. Leonetti’s bright cinematography makes sense of the tone. The images retain the appeal of Christmas entertainment even when the material becomes violent, so we can enjoy the seasonal look without waiting for the film to disown it. Todd Cherniawsky’s production design contributes to that storybook effect, making the setting inviting enough for Santa’s aggression to feel out of place. The brightness is doing comic work here; darkening everything would make the joke less clear.
The stop-motion sequence is a particularly useful touch because it borrows a form associated with reassuring festive stories. We laughed at it: that cosy Christmas style is an absurdly cheerful fit for a Santa with a satanic history. The comic thought is visible before anyone needs to explain it, which is more satisfying than simply adding another rude word. David Steiman’s fondness for this sort of seasonal imagery gives the film a charm its crude premise might not lead us to expect.
The editing and music are less distinctive. Steve Polivka and Julia Wong’s cutting has little chance of creating suspense when the main attraction is a Santa this broadly played, and the film rarely makes us anticipate anything worse than another outrageous bit of behaviour. Henning Lohner’s score is secondary to the visual joke, which tells us how seriously to take the danger before the music need do anything. There is little here for anyone who wants their seasonal horror to unsettle them.
David Steiman’s writing has a more basic problem: one reversal of a familiar figure is asked to do a good deal of work. Once Santa behaving badly has registered, there is a limit to what further bad behaviour can add. The nudity and profanity are less amusing than the contrast between the cheerful surroundings and the violence, and can make the whole thing seem pleased with how rude it is. At 85 minutes, it is sensibly short, although we would still welcome another substantial joke. Save it for an evening when cheerful indecency will do.
