Introduction

The 1970s marked a revolutionary time for women as the second wave of feminism continued to pour in, its catalyst being Betty Friedan’s 1963 book, The Feminine Mystique, which criticized the postwar belief that a woman’s role was to marry and bear children. Women no longer wanted to be restricted to being just mothers, the book critiquing this idea which resonated heavily with as a whole, something that was able to further the movement. Rather than merely focusing on the injustices that a specific woman faced, the book spoke on women who laid at the intersection of both misogyny and racism, and even women of different socioeconomic status that faced injustices because of it. 

This fervor for change found expression in various forms, including the emergence of it in films that dissected these ideas to further its reach. Bob Clark’s 1974 film, Black Christmas, is a testament to the feminist undercurrents of its time, following a group of women as they attempt to find comfort in one another while being antagonized by an enigmatic shadow that lives in their attic in the form of male violence. The film’s main focus lies within the relationship that the women have with themselves and the patriarchal society that they live in. The illusion of safety within the women-only household begins to crumble as the film unfolds, exposing how violence against women, both internalized and perpetuated by others, can infiltrate even the seemingly secure confines of female solidarity. The sorority, intended as a haven, becomes a microcosm where agency is questioned and internalized misogyny festers. The film masterfully depicts how patriarchy, like an insidious force, finds subtle ways to seep into women-only spaces.

Preexisting Misogyny

The film begins with a steady shot of the sorority house adorned with Christmas lights for the holidays, only sound we’re able to hear being the surrounding area of it. Dogs barking, the sound of carolers near, and the sound of wind. Initially, the viewer is positioned as an observer, almost like a character about to engage with the residents within. However, this illusion is shattered by the ominous presence of ragged breathing, serving as an immediate cause for concern for the viewer.

The cinematography adopts an almost voyeuristic approach, inviting the audience to step into the shoes of an unidentified figure whose ominous breathing becomes a chilling soundtrack to their impending actions. The deliberate decision not to introduce this character speaks volumes; their unsettling behavior alone is sufficient to designate them as a looming threat—one to be feared and avoided.. As Barb, a resident of the household exclaims “Hey, who let the gosh darn door open?”, we are invited into the comfort of their home while simultaneously worrying that their haven is constantly exposed to the dangerous outside world with their absentmindedness (Clark 1974, 2:34). The stark contrast between the inviting interior and the foreboding exterior enhances the creation of a false sense of security. The sorority house, adorned with holiday lights and filled with an apparent sense of camaraderie, begins to masquerade as a sanctuary—a refuge from the unknown dangers that lie beyond its walls.

This juxtaposition sets the stage for the film's exploration of the dichotomy between perceived safety for women in women-centered spaces and what occurs whenever this is broken and a man is able to enter these spaces undetectably. However, it becomes increasingly apparent that the menace of patriarchal scrutiny and violence is not contingent upon a male presence physically infiltrating these spaces. Long before the antagonist takes tangible actions against the women—whether through disturbing telephone calls laden with threats of assault or the subsequent heinous acts that unfold—the women within the sorority are already ensnared in the subtle yet insidious grip of misogyny. The initial manifestation of this pervasive influence is observed after one of the unsettling calls, where Clare, characterized as one of the more reserved members of the household, expresses genuine concern over Barb's nonchalant response to the harassment. This exchange illuminates a critical point: the existence of men has already cast a shadow over the women's lives within the sorority, creating an atmosphere where derogatory and threatening behavior is unfortunately perceived as commonplace. Barb's dismissive retort, acknowledging the call as "minor league" and comparing it to the regular occurrences she faces in the city, underscores the normalization of misogynistic behavior in their lives even before the unfolding horror takes center stage (Clark 1974, 9:15). 

Additionally, the violence that is presented in the film is not restricted to the obscene caller that lurks in the house. There are other instances of men acting in a violent manner as a response to women or even against them which have no connection to the man that has broken in. This is set forth when a search party’s efforts to locate a young girl who failed to return home are met with tragedy instead. The heartbreaking revelation comes when they discover only the lifeless body, a detail the camera tactfully omits. Though the camera makes no move to show us her remains, the distress in those that have found her and her mother’s agony is enough to imply that her death was not peaceful (Clark 1974, 43:16-43:56). Moving closer to the girls' interrelationships however, is Peter, boyfriend of Jess Bradford who serves as the film’s final girl. A subplot of the film is their inability to agree on what to do after Jess reveals to him that she is pregnant with his child and her desire to undergo an abortion. This revelation becomes a point of contention, with Peter visibly tense and harboring resentment towards Jess for her decision. Although the violence is not directed explicitly at Jess, Peter's destructive outburst—manifested in the wreckage of a piano, an instrument he claims to cherish—serves as evidence of his proclivity to react violently. Neither one of these instances are linked to the antagonist we have seen lurking in the attic, serving as a stark reminder that the women had already been experiencing horror even if the plot within the movie (as in, even if the man had never broken) had never occurred. 

Female Relationships & Internalized Misogyny

Furthermore, misogyny can be prevalent even within spaces in which there are no men. As Margret Atwood has said women are “peering through the keyhole in [their] own head, if nowhere else. [They] are a [women] with a man inside watching a woman. [Women] are [their] own voyeur”. In other words, the patriarchal system is so embedded into society that even women are at times perpetrators of misogyny, internalizing this idea that to be a woman is to be less than, that there is a specific way to be a woman that it begins to affect them heavily (Szymanski).

In Black Christmas (1974) the bonds that the women have with one another become a center stage, most of the film following around how they interact with the other, whether or not the inherent idea that they are all women ever provides a sense of solidarity to exist. Barb however, seems to exist as a way to present the viewer with a character which requires one to look at her as multi-layered rather than just a side character that so happens to be in the same sorority as Jess. Barb is often seen participating in behavior that is often looked down upon in traditional society, - she drinks often, smokes, uses lewd language, is generally very confrontational and presents herself as apathetic whenever it comes to Clare, who serves as a foil to her (Weaver). It’s almost depicted as masculine when you compare her to the rest of the girls who seem to make attempts to have her tone down her language, to stop escalating conversations into arguments or to prevent her from antagonizing Clare. It almost feels like Barb serves as the “man of the house”, a masculine presence that the other women of the household at times, seem to answer to. A lot of the instances where they tell her to calm down or “Why don’t you go upstairs and go lay down for a while?” are reminiscent of a wife making the attempt to get her drunk husband (which she was in this scene) to step away from a situation (Clark 1974, 34:45). Her behavior is misogynistic at times when she finds herself annoyed whenever other women’s (specifically Clare’s) ideals don’t align with hers, looking down on her for not engaging in the same behavior that she does. Though, it is clear that this lies within the idea of resentment, envious of how accepted Clare is, of her healthy relationships with others and lack of drinking habits. But more telling is when Clare makes mention of a woman in town’s assault, Barb seems to patronize her by saying “Darling, you can’t rape a townie”, callously dismissing a woman’s pain due to preconceived judgements (Clark 1974, 9:24). The dismissal of women is analogous to the later actions of the male police officers that show little concern for the worries the girls’ have regarding the calls. 

And it seems as though this masculine nature of Barb is what threatens the caller’s own manhood over the phone. Initially, Barb had been the one to take charge of the situation, taking the phone from a disturbed Jess to answer herself. It seems to amuse the other women of the house, especially Phyl, how she has the ability to almost build a banter with the caller, though it isn't anything too crass, too out of character for Barb. They seem to think Barb, of all people, will be able to handle the caller with the way that she carries herself. Be as that may be, even Barb has a boiling point, disgusted by the caller’s sexual harassment exclaiming, “You fucking creep!” which seems to make him drop the previously guttural, almost comedic voice to an unsettling calm tone where he states “I’m going to kill you” before hanging up (Clark 1974, 8:51-8:54). It is this threat that seems to solidify Barb’s fate. Though the Moaner, as they call him, kills other women in the film, Barb’s death being done in the vulnerability of her sleep, after she has had an asthma attack makes it so we take note of how defenseless she can be. Furthermore, the attack is done with a glass unicorn figure, its horn serving as a phallic symbol here to make this evocative of an assault. Regardless of how Barb might have carried herself, or how much she could have been perceived as unlady-like, men still perceive her as a woman susceptible to their violence.

Violence Against Women

The caller’s actions taken in the film are at all times from his point of view. There are instances in which we “see” the caller but never from a third person point of view. Instead we are always either the victim or the perpetrator in these scenes, the camera focusing on what each party is looking at. Even when coming face to face with the caller however, his face is obstructed, a shadowy presence, a John Doe. The audience is only able to draw the lines between him and Peter, perhaps being the same person due to both men’s green sweaters or even the way the light seems to reflect on one of their eyes as they speak to women. After all, victims of abuse often know their victims, as it is a myth that women are more likely to be attacked by strangers (Women’s Aid). In horror films, such as The Shining, abusive relationships take place on the screen and the fear that women experience comes not from the ghostly presence or the shadowy figures but from seeing a man who is supposed to care for them behave violently as they suspect that they might (Ebiri). However, the Caller’s existence not only serves as a way to suspect Peter but instead have him exist as the personification of male violence, of male domination. His erratic calls are most of the time, sexual in nature, the man rambling about what he would like to do to the women in the film, but there is never any instance where we see him act on any of these. None of his attacks are sexual in nature (though symbolically they might be), as though he is aware of the power, he as a man, holds over them. 

The protectiveness that Clare’s father has for her parallels her death happening through asphyxiation, smothered by a transparent bag that was enough for the man to go unnoticed by her. It is through Clare that we see that the violence that her father has taught her to protect herself from has materialized itself as a monster in her closet to show her being younger in age than the other girls and to demonstrate the idea of when the perpetrator is a strange man that he has told her to look out for. Mrs. Mac, the house mother, is similar to Barb in her drunken, crass nature but her death comes through the means of looking for Claude, her cat, the same way Clare suspected him of being in the closet. The cat goes unharmed through the movie, even the caller, at times, meowing, echoing the feline’s sounds. Whenever Claude is up in the attic, it had to have been the caller who had put him up there considering the only way for him to climb up being the stairs to it. The Caller only harms women. Though the way that he physically moved Claude up despite luring both Mrs. Mac and Clare to come closer to him implies that there is the need for male domination, to enact control which is solidified by how after their death, he positions them into whichever way he wants. It is no coincidence that Clare and Mrs. Mac are who remain up in the attic with him after the events of the film, neither ever found - the youngest and the oldest of the household - as women of any age can be victims of abuse. The Caller remains anonymous throughout the film to have the audience understand that anyone can be this killer vying for both attention and control, wanting to take away the agency of the women in the film. Whether this be a boyfriend or a stranger, both men within the film have the same goal at hand. 

Motherhood & Agency

Amidst the violence and misogyny that is highlighted throughout the film, the theme of motherhood emerges as a silent undercurrent, shaping the identities and destinies of the women residing within the sorority house. And even the caller. While the act of positioning Clare’s dead body with a doll on her lap in a rocking chair demonstrated his need to control and force her into a motherly position, something that women at the time made attempt to break out of, needs to be addressed, his chilling calls echo sentients of a mother having been present and contributing to this behavior. If we infer that the caller is named “Billy”, he is often being scolded, if not verbally abused, being called “filthy” or even being demanded to tell his “father” what he has done to the baby as he seems to change voices to represent different people. The birth of 'Agnes' appears to intensify his resentment, indicating unresolved motherly issues. The very mention of what sounds like a tumultuous relationship with both sister and mother drives forth the idea that women are never really seen as people by “Billy”, always an extension of something whether that be him seeing women as his mother or as his sister.But there exists hatred towards both. Therefore there is hatred towards women as a whole. 

Similarly, in the beginning of the film, Barb is answering a call with her mother but she seems agitated by it, her usually more boisterous personality being much more toned down here, quiet and frustrated. The expression after it seems miserable, as though hearing the woman’s voice through the phone is enough to drain her of energy. As though attempting to not be alone with her mother skiing, she invites the other girls to accompany her, to which they agree as if understanding her silent plea of wanting to avoid her mother.

The exploration of motherhood takes center stage with Jess, the most prominent character embodying this theme. Her concern throughout the film is not due to her pregnancy - she knows she wants to abort - but because of Peter’s contempt towards her, pushing her to marry him and have his child despite her many protests. Jess carries herself as well-spoken, communicating everything to him as it is rather than waiting any longer but he reacts similarly to a child, throwing a tantrum behind the action. The men in the film are sometimes depicted as infantile with the way that their behavior is reminiscent of a spoiled child whose demands aren’t being met while the women tend to be more open to communication. In one of the only scenes of the films in which the camera slowly moves in, Jess states, “Do you remember when we first met? You told me about your wanting to be a concert pianist. How it was your greatest dream. And I told you about some of the things I wanted to do. I still wanna do those things. You can't ask me to drop everything I've been working for and give up all my ambitions because your plans have changed. Be realistic. I can't marry you.”, as though we are meant to be Peter, taking in the information set out for us. (Clark 1974, 49:03) For its time period, and even now, this is an incredibly progressive statement, which is only emphasized by Roe v. Wade ruling a year prior to this. It serves as a way to see it already echoing the sentiments that women held behind it. Jess displays Goode’s theory of role strain, or rather an avoidance of it (Rittenour and Colaner).. Her ability to be able to understand that she cannot be a mother while accomplishing her goals shows her tremendous understanding of what it takes to be a mother. Peter’s inability to understand her lies in a sense of wanting control over her. 

Motherhood and womanhood are often connected but they are not synonyms of the other. A woman’s ability to be a mother or desire to be one does not make her more of a woman than one who does, nor is it a demonstration of femininity. Ultimately however, it is Jess’ shedding of her femininity that is able to save her in the end. Her journey through the film might have been a depiction of how she herself was handling a pregnancy but this does little to affect the choices that she makes when facing the Caller. Jess’ care for the other women of the house demonstrate that she is indeed a “motherly” person who cares for others but a man caring for his friends would not be referred to as fatherly. Jess is merely a good friend who shows concern time and  time and time again for the women of the house because she is a woman herself, the severity of the situation making her go as far as to arm herself with a fire poker and head upstairs. Even when she comes face to face with the killer, all that we see is his eye, wide and crazed, as if representing the male gaze that attempted to penetrate the confines of the sorority house. She retreats into the attic and we are once again met with a mere shadow of a man, Billy and Peter becoming one and the same to Jess as she has seen what both are capable of - if they even are separate entities. The usage of the fire poker serves as a phallic object, Jess’ ability to save herself being to act in a similar fashion that the Caller had done to Barb, by acting as a male figure, by penetrating (Grant). As the movie comes to an end, the audience hears the phone begin to ring once more, with Clare and Mrs. Mac’s bodies still undiscovered in the attic - a further indication that while Jess might be spared the violence from Peter, she remains ensnared in a patriarchal society where violence against women persists. The unresolved fate of the bodies is a haunting reminder that, despite Jess's personal triumph, the broader societal battle against violence continues unabated.

Conclusion 

Black Christmas (1974) transcends the boundaries of conventional horror by delving into the depths of the internal and external violence that women face, the shadowy figure in the attic serving as a chilling reminder that, despite the strides made by the feminist movement, women are still haunted by the specter of violence and the insidious forces of patriarchy. This haunting is not limited to explicit acts committed by individuals; rather, it extends to the broader societal view of women and the expectations imposed upon them. The shadowy figure, a manifestation of the unseen threats women face, is a stark embodiment of the societal gaze that scrutinizes and judges women based on ingrained stereotypes and norms. The link between this malevolent presence and societal perceptions underscores the film's exploration of the deeply rooted systemic issues that persistently threaten women's safety and autonomy. In essence, Black Christmas (1974) serves as a powerful commentary on the enduring struggles women confront, emphasizing that the battle against violence is not confined to isolated incidents but is intricately woven into the societal structures that persistently shape the female experience. 

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