"Krampus" Review

When I think of Krampus, I think of my preteen years, when I fell in love with any story with a wicked sense of humor, like The Evil Dead. I fell for movies that balanced creepiness and goofiness without dumbing it down, like Gremlins. This was also around the time when I first discovered A Christmas Story, whose characters felt like real people, with insecurities, flaws, and selfish desires. A Christmas Story isn't heartless, though; the warmth, the spirit of Christmas shines through, in the atmosphere, the characters' hopes. I don't fall for cynicism, but I don't fall for saccharine material, either. Both ends of that spectrum betray a sense of falsehood, and that, I think, is death to film. A movie can be rooted in imagination, don't get me wrong, but whenever it feels like a filmmaker approaches a story with a lack of honest passion, it stops feeling like a movie and more like an exercise. Krampus brings me back to that mischievous, heart-warming, boundlessly creative state of mind I fell in love with ten years ago.

The film centers on Max (Emjay Anthony), a boy who's having a crisis of faith about Santa Claus. Initially, Max seems too old to be still on the fence, but I think the movie suggests the crisis is a struggle to keep his Christmas spirit alive, in spite of the rampant materialism and stress surrounding him. His family, including his father (Adam Scott), mother (Toni Collette), and sister (Stefanie LaVie Owen), approach the holidays with dread, completely resigned on the so-called new meaning of Christmas; the only one who's trying to keep festive is Max's German-speaking grandmother, Omi (Krista Stadler).

Max's uncle (David Koechner), aunt (Allison Tolman), cousins, and grand-aunt (Conchata Ferrell) arrive for the holidays - a good ol' fashioned group of gun-totin', Hummer-driving rednecks. The dysfunction grows as the two families clash, and when the cousins read Max's letter to Santa mockingly at the dinner table, it's the last straw. Max rips up his letter and tosses it out the window, unaware of the demonic presence he's summoned. A nightmarish blizzard swoops in, and with it, the horned monster Krampus.

I saw Love the Coopers a couple weeks ago, so when this film started with similar familiar dysfunction, I coiled up in worry. However, two things make Krampus work. For one, the tone is defined. From the jump, the families are cruel to each other, and tension builds until each member reaches their breaking point. Love the Coopers couldn't decide whether it wanted to softball dysfunction or let the characters express true disdain; Krampus doesn't pull any punches, and writers Todd Casey, Zach Shields, and Michael Dougherty (the film's director) pen jokes that make you feel guilty to laugh. The second thing is that the hatred doesn't last for long; demonic forces have a way of bringing people together. I never wanted a character to die; the film gives each member a redeeming, humanizing moment. (On a brief side note, it's great to see Adam Scott, usually an every-man in Parks and Recreation, adopt a more decisive hero mantle here. It suits him well.)

As Omi explains, because every German-speaking grandmother in a horror movie has encyclopedic knowledge of the supernatural, Krampus is known as the "shadow of St. Nicholas". Needless to say, if Santa Claus has reindeer, elves, and a magic bag of toys, Krampus' army looks as if it were designed by Tim Burton on LSD-laced eggnog. I mean this with the most endearing of sentiments: the costumes, puppetry, and visual effects are spot-on, right at home with creature features like Critters, Killer Klowns From Outer Space, and The Blob (1988). This movie's been praised for its heavy use of practical effects, which is, in itself, a welcome novelty. However, just because you wave a puppet in front of me doesn't mean I'll believe it's real. This is where Krampus differs. There's so much attention to detail, as far as movement and texture are concerned, that each creature feels alive. It's ironic that Dougherty and crew put so much effort into making the monster seem totally independent from its creators.

When Krampus arrives, the movie cranks up the pace, and at times, it rushes by too quickly for its own good. Characters handle themselves a bit too well; they never find themselves shaking their head in disbelief that, you know, evil gingerbread men exist. I'm not asking for a Christopher Nolan-style roundtable about the symbolic intricacies of candy canes, but just a scene or two where the characters get to lose their breath and freak out for a bit would present the characters as more believable. I fully admit it's a nitpick; between having a character get down to business versus watching them whimper in the corner for an hour...?

As the film progresses, it comes more and more unhinged, absolutely elated to exist in its mad, mad world. Krampus is a horror-comedy with ambition, passion, and heart, more so than the "traditional" Christmas movies I see. I had a blast, and I know I've found another welcome addition to my list of Christmas classics.

Thank you all for reading; I'm the Man Without a Plan, signing off.