So I started the evening at Sadler's Wells watching Sir Matthew Bourne's adaptation of "Edward Scissorhands" and my friend decided to reciprocate my hospitality by taking me to a (very) late night screening of this - which is apparently John Waters' pick of Christmas films. Well, talk about sublime to ridiculous. It's all about the psychologically scarred "Harry" who has never been able to get grips with there not actually being a "Santa". Sorry, if I've just let the cat out of the sack for you. Anyway, as an adult he (Brandon Maggart) has become a toy maker of some skill and distinction but the thing is, the sprogs for whom he makes these toys are becoming less and less appreciative. The tension mounts, he snaps - and soon nobody is safe from his vengeful - sometimes pretty suitable - wrath. Now, yes - I thought it was dreadful, but it does have a rather sound message to it. The throwaway culture is in it's sights, but so is the sense that Christmas can be a lonely time for people; that many take all the celebrations for granted and that, frankly, it's got very little nowadays to do with frankincense and myrrh (gold, well...). It's one of those films that knowing a lot about it and Maggart beforehand might improve it's standing, but I went in cold and I came out bemused, just a bit bored and wondering if it wasn't just as guilty of capitalising on Christmas cynicism as much of it's plot?