All I Want for Christmas: Joan Collins in Tales from the Crypt

Tales from the Crypt (1972) is a delightful little horror anthology, the sort of film that was quite popular in the 1970s but isn't made nearly as often today. Each segment, based on the old EC Comics series, is true to the original's spirit, capturing that magnificently English sense of the macabre to perfection. For me though, one segment stands out above the rest, the first one, "...And All Through the House".

Out of all the segments in the film, this one makes best use of its short running time, small cast, and limited setting—all of the action takes place in one house on Christmas Eve. Yet even more than it being the epitome of the perfect short horror story—an art form unto itself, and one that few have ever mastered—it also features one of the most fabulous actresses to ever sashay across the screen: Joan Collins.

Every holiday season, I'm fascinated with images like the one above, which juxtapose the merry trappings of the season with powerful, bloody moments of pure horror. They subvert the seasonal merriment, exposing our collective unease and fear. Few moments like this are as excellent as Joan's introduction here. We first meet Joanne Clayton, played by the Divine Ms. Collins, as she bludgeons her husband to death with a fireplace poker while he leisurely reads the evening paper. Our first shot of her comes as the camera pans up as poor, bloodied hubby falls out of frame, to reveal the murderous vixen. She's sporting a festive yuletide party hat over luxuriously voluminous, bouncy brunette locks, eyelashes that go on for days, and a  look of quiet satisfaction on her face, while tightly gripping the phallic poker she just used to off the sorry old bastard. That one image acts as a subversively powerful upending of the Christmas spirit. "Happy Fucking Christmas indeed," you almost expect Joan to blurt out.

Then our hearts sink when the couple's young daughter calls down for mummy Joanne/Joan. They sink further when, as our killer MILF* shuts the girl's bedroom door, the little tyke lovingly yells out, "Night, Daddy!" The camera focuses tightly on Joanne's reaction shot as the stark reality of what she's done sinks in. Then, brilliantly, Joanne suddenly snaps out of her brief crisis of conscience, raising her eyebrows nonchalantly as if to say, "Eh, no regrets." She marches downstairs and just gets to work, dropping to her knees to furiously scrub the blood out of the carpet. God bless us everyone!

This being an old EC morality tale, there's danger lurking just outside. Our murderous minx is about to learn that karma is indeed a bitch. Especially on Christmas. A lunatic homicidal maniac has escaped from a nearby mental institution and, surprise, he's right outside her house and he's wearing a Santa Claus suit. He roams the perimeter of the house, peering eerily into the windows as Joanne hides, then frantically runs around shuttering windows. But her sweet young daughter has been waiting impatiently for Santa all night, so she's more than happy to open the door for Jolly Old St. Nick. At that moment, the look of sudden, absolute terror that flashes across Joanne's face says it all. She's about to pay the ultimate price for her sins. 'Tis the season.

Clocking in somewhere around twelve minutes in length, "...And All Through the House" is simply perfect, expertly building the tension throughout, until the final, terrifying moment. We feel complicit in the husband's murder, as we watch Joanne clean up the crime scene and dispose of the body. Then we feel genuine fear for her life once the madman in the red suit shows up. It's that conflicting emotional response which makes for such a terrifically effective and spectacularly twisted horror short.

Joan Collins sells it all with grace and aplomb. She's positively mesmerizing, gliding like a cat through this macabre black comedy. There she is, a cigarette dangling seductively from her lips, tearing open her gift from the now-dead Mr. Clayton. She shrugs nonchalantly, then begins cleaning up the crime scene. Even while being stalked by the deranged Santa, she's still poetry in motion, elegance and glamour. Sure, you can see the fear building in her eyes as she frantically tries to stay alive, but damn, she still looks fabulous. And for Joan Collins circa 1972, looking fabulous at all times was just another day at the office. And joy to the world for that.

* Listen, I never use the term "MILF", but this is Joan Freaking Collins in all her haughty, cool-as-ice 1970s elegance. Still, we can certainly class up this rather crude acronym to something more befitting of Dame Joan: Mother I Legitimately Fancy.