Nutcracker Massacre review – a slow slay ride to nowhere in yuletide slasher flick | Film

This yuletide slasher movie is about as enjoyable as being force-fed a Christmas tree and having it violently pipeclean your insides. It joins Black Christmas, Bad Santa and this year’s Violent Night in the anti-Christmas oeuvre – but its placeholder characters, this’ll-do dialogue and mechanical gallery of kills show that seasonal subversion alone won’t cut it.

Novelist Clara (Beatrice Fletcher) is reeling from her boyfriend Paul (Andy Dixon) cheating on her and decides to bunker down at the country manor of Auntie Marie (Julie Stevens) for the holidays. She needn’t worry too much, though, being a “timeless beauty”, as the local antiques dealer tells her – before fiendishly tweaking his moustache and flogging her a Nutcracker doll as a gift. But when she gets to her destination, it turns out her aunt has gone one better: there is already a 6ft Nutcracker lurking behind the tree. When midnight strikes on Christmas Eve, the wooden soldier’s eyes come ablaze, just as an unfortunate delivery man turns up.

The murderous figurine is no doubt meant to tap into some sense of the uncanny, as with ETA Hoffmann’s original short story. But the only uncanny thing here is the complete lack of suspense and relentless obviousness of this slaughter procession, the Nutcracker’s saw-toothed mouth orgasmically agape when he’s on the (very slow) rampage. Given how contrived their appearances are, Clara’s backstabbing friend, her perfidious ex and her odious cousin must be disappointed at how perfunctorily the demon finally deals with them – something that goes for all the deaths here (with one exception).

One-time Robin Hood Patrick Bergin serves up a bit of relish as the garrulous antiquarian, who manages to add depth to the Nutcracker mythos with an inventive (but overlong) piece of backstory. And director Rebecca Matthews at least doesn’t miss the trick of meting out one demise that wincingly fulfils the title. But this slay ride is delivered with as much spontaneity and passion as an Amazon Christmas email notification.

This yuletide slasher movie is about as enjoyable as being force-fed a Christmas tree and having it violently pipeclean your insides. It joins Black Christmas, Bad Santa and this year’s Violent Night in the anti-Christmas oeuvre – but its placeholder characters, this’ll-do dialogue and mechanical gallery of kills show that seasonal subversion alone won’t cut it.

Novelist Clara (Beatrice Fletcher) is reeling from her boyfriend Paul (Andy Dixon) cheating on her and decides to bunker down at the country manor of Auntie Marie (Julie Stevens) for the holidays. She needn’t worry too much, though, being a “timeless beauty”, as the local antiques dealer tells her – before fiendishly tweaking his moustache and flogging her a Nutcracker doll as a gift. But when she gets to her destination, it turns out her aunt has gone one better: there is already a 6ft Nutcracker lurking behind the tree. When midnight strikes on Christmas Eve, the wooden soldier’s eyes come ablaze, just as an unfortunate delivery man turns up.

The murderous figurine is no doubt meant to tap into some sense of the uncanny, as with ETA Hoffmann’s original short story. But the only uncanny thing here is the complete lack of suspense and relentless obviousness of this slaughter procession, the Nutcracker’s saw-toothed mouth orgasmically agape when he’s on the (very slow) rampage. Given how contrived their appearances are, Clara’s backstabbing friend, her perfidious ex and her odious cousin must be disappointed at how perfunctorily the demon finally deals with them – something that goes for all the deaths here (with one exception).

One-time Robin Hood Patrick Bergin serves up a bit of relish as the garrulous antiquarian, who manages to add depth to the Nutcracker mythos with an inventive (but overlong) piece of backstory. And director Rebecca Matthews at least doesn’t miss the trick of meting out one demise that wincingly fulfils the title. But this slay ride is delivered with as much spontaneity and passion as an Amazon Christmas email notification.