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A Christmas Story (1983)   I was aware A Christmas Story had a high reputation – in the pantheon of Christmas movies, at any rate – but nothing about its premise really piqued my interest: kid wants a Red Ryder BB Gun for Crimbo. It sounded like winsome, highly resistible Yule Americana. And without Jean Shepherd’s splendidly wry narration, it probably would be, give or take Darren McGavin’s hoot of a performance as young Ralphie’s dad. So yeah, I should have sought this out a long while back. Ralphie: Christmas was on its way. Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas, upon which the entire kid

The Goodies 7.6: Earthanasia   Christmas Eve. What better time to contemplate ending it all? If the Goodies of 1977 had written an irreverent take on 2020, would it have turned out very differently to Earthanasia? Governments collectively coming together – albeit in an act of implicit complicity rather than explicitly – and agreeing to destroy the world. In tandem with taking jabs at a media eager to milk every last drop of hype from the situation. Graeme: I’m going to enjoy this Christmas if it’s the last thing I do. Naturally, this makes Christmas a big downer. Not that Graeme and

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes 2.16: The Blue Carbuncle   The final episode of the 1960s BBC Sherlock Holmes series. It ran between 1964 and 1968 across two seasons, first with Douglas Wilmer and then Peter Cushing (Nigel Stock provided a sense of continuity, appearing as Watson throughout). Cushing played Holmes eight years earlier in Hammer’s full-blooded The Hound of the Baskervilles, of course, but this series is a decidedly less atmospheric affair, as might be expected of the less exotically budget BBC. Certainly, if the meagre seven surviving episodes are testaments. Rather than the lavish location work and film stock of

Trading Places (1983)   It’s incredible to recall that Eddie Murphy was only in his early twenties during his first flush of success (48 Hrs, Trading Places, Beverly Hills Cop). And not, like contemporary Tom Cruise, playing teenagers, but rather adult roles, roles where age wasn’t an identifier. Here, he co-stars with the decade-senior Dan Aykroyd, but let’s not pretend Eddie isn’t the lead and main attraction. Director John Landis’ retro treatment of Trading Places, which Pauline Kael unflattering described as “a time warp… with its stodgy look, suggesting no period of the past or the present”, adds to the sense that the

Lethal Weapon (1987)   The first of Shane Black’s Christmas-set screenplays – “It’s just a thing of beauty” he told Entertainment Weekly of the season to be jolly – isn’t perhaps his most essentially so. But then, the most essentially Shane Black Christmas-set movie is one where his sole contribution was furnishing the title (producer Joel Silver added a Christmas setting to Die Hard when he saw how it added a certain something to Lethal Weapon). Thematically, however, with forgiveness and family foregrounded, through the cathartic infliction of ultra-violence, nothing could be more festive. On that level, the opening, as Jingle Bell Rock takes a

Scrooge (1970)   The most charitable thing one can say about Scrooge the musical is that it was bound to happen at some point. It isn’t even necessarily a bad idea. It could work. Indeed, it did work two decades later when the Muppets tried it. Which rather highlights the big problem with this picture: it’s no fun. As taglines go, “What the dickens have they done to Scrooge?” is laying yourself open for invective, but the film was an easy sell to awards ceremonies, inclined as a matter of course towards sumptuous musicals. It was nominated for a BAFTA, gathered a handful of Golden Globes

Santa Claus: The Movie (1985)   Alexander Salkind (alongside son Ilya) inhabited not dissimilar territory to the more prolific Dino De Laurentis, in that his idea of manufacturing a huge blockbuster appeared to be throwing money at it while being stingy with, or failing to appreciate, talent where it counted. Failing to understand the essential ingredients for a quality movie, basically, something various Hollywood moguls of the ’80s would inherit. Santa Claus: The Movie arrived in the wake of his previous colon-ed big hit, Superman: The Movie, the producer apparently operating under the delusion that flying effects and :The Movie in the title would

Batman Returns (1992)   I always feel as if I should like Batman Returns much more than I do. It gets several things very right, and it’s fairly undiluted Tim Burton. But perhaps that’s part of the problem. Enough of it shows off the slightly indulgent, sentimental Burton of Edward Scisssorhands, as opposed to the uncompromisingly anarchic one of Beetlejuice, such that the possibility this might be his equivalent of Gremlins 2: The New Batch – a director let loose on a sequel, given carte blanche to do his own thing by a wilfully unsuspecting studio, especially so since it’s Warner Bros again – is left

The Avengers 4.6: Too Many Christmas Trees   Festive celebrations take a sinister turn in this fourth season episode, as Steed is haunted by uncannily predictive dreams. It is, of course, a nefarious plot, but less lightweight than many a series’ seasonal indulgence, despite featuring its fair share of gags and meta-referencing. Most celebrated is the Christmas card Steed receives from Cathy Gale, offering him best wishes for the future (“Oh, how nice of her to remember me”), followed by “What can she be doing in Fort Knox?” Albeit, Too Many Christmas Trees was broadcast fifteen months after the release of Goldfinger, in

Top 10  Christmas Movies   Christmas movies, they tend to get a bit of a free pass. Most of them aren’t all that good, but if you’re in a compliant mood and somewhat soporific, they’re fairly inoffensive. As such, this list is perhaps not infinitely variable, but only the top half of it could withstand a battering at any other time of year. And, since the season’s wholesale sentimentality can be something of a turn-off, there’s a good sprinkling of the caustic in this Christmas countdown.   Scrooged (1988) If you can get past, or rather stop before, the indigestible ending,

Four Christmases (2008)   As desperate Christmas comedy movie premises go, this one actually has a bit of potential. Unmarried couple Vince Vaughn (hey, in a Christmas movie? Surely not!) and Reece Witherspoon have their holiday to Fiji nixed and are forced to spend Christmas Day visiting each of their divorced parents. Lots of yuks in there, surely. Well, not really. Particularly since a message about family, and having families, liberally works puking and retching into the mix. There’s a fairly slim running time, and with four credited writers one wonders what was left on the cutting room floor. Certainly, all four

Christmas with the Kranks (2004)   Ex-coke dealer Tim Allen’s underwhelming box office career is, like Vince Vaughn’s, regularly in need of a boost from an indiscriminate public willing to see any old turkey posing as a prize Christmas comedy.  He made three Santa Clauses, and here is joined by Jamie Lee Curtis as a couple planning to forgo the usual neighbourhood festivities for a cruise. As a result of such individual thinking (and anti-capitalist belt-tightening) they meet with hilarious rejection from their friends and neighbours. Because, like, it’s wrong not to do what everyone else does, particularly at Christmas. Before

No Escape (1994)   A problem for the futuristic prison movie subgenre is that its instigators can be a little slack when it comes to including an idea of how the encompassing future world operates. A corporatised prison system seems like a given (see also Wedlock, Fortress), probably because it already had roots when these movies came out (in the US, UK, France and Oz, at minimum). Beyond that, though, the unifying factor is an apparent lack of thought. No Escape, a mish-mash of established tropes, some utilised effectively by director Martin Campbell, some less so, exemplifies this. Title: In the year 2022, the

Spencer (2021)   I’m sure there’s a very funny edit of Spencer to be made, perhaps involving Reeves and Mortimer appearing at inopportune moments while Kristen Stewart’s Prince Di reels, dazed and confused, around the halls of Sandringham, faithfully accompanied by Johnny Greenwood’s free-jazz snoodlings. The picture’s random and deranged enough as it is, so it would require very little prodding to fracture its deadly-serious face ache and daub across it instead a splash of levity. Or how about Terry Gilliam in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas mode, replacing visions of Liz et al with his animatronic casino reptiles (the referenced perpetually frigid

Hawkeye Season One   Of the Marvel Disney+ series thus far, this was the one that had the least going for it on paper. Overtly Woke credentials – teen girl assumes the mantle from a self-confessedly toxic male – in combination with nigh-on the least interesting member of the Avengers. Although, obviously, that one’s a dead heat with Natasha Romanov. And yet, surprisingly, Hawkeye is easily the most satisfying of year’s TV foursome (I’m not including What If… ?) The key is the relationship between Jeremy Renner’s Clint Barton and Hailee Steinfeld’s Kate Bishop, the eager young wannabe sparking off the guilt-ridden grizzled

The Shop Around the Corner (1940)   Utterly charming Ernst Lubitsch movie. Although, I do find it difficult – nay, nigh-on impossible – to countenance the idea that it’s supposed to be set in Budapest, and that Jimmy Stewart is Hungarian. Obviously, remake You’ve Got Mail with Meg Ryan and Guantanamo Hanks has now eclipsed this picture, but The Shop Around the Corner is superior in almost every respect, and isn’t trying too hard to please in the way Nora Ephron was prone. Of course, it’s also another Christmas movie where the rich man makes bank (and that’s a good thing). But this is Hollywood. Hollywood,

The Lemon Drop Kid (1951)   That ghastly poster makes it a wonder anyone actually saw The Lemon Drop Kid, a remake of the 1934 movie of the same name – kind of, in that it was also based on the Damon Runyon short story – but this time reconditioned for Bob Hope. Hope is generally reviled these days, largely based on his later period of very resistible stand-up/Republican cheerleading/USO-ing unsuspecting troops and compering gigs like the Oscars – and for other, less widely broadcast reasons I shall mention tangentially – but there was a golden period, around 1939 to 1952

It Happened on 5th Avenue (1947)   The title sounds like a shameless Capra rip-off, and it’s suggested the original story – which was Oscar nominated – also came to the great director’s attention. That he preferred to make box-office bomb It’s a Wonderful Life while this did pretty well financially tells you everything. There’s little that’s very sophisticated about Roy Del Ruth’s envisioning of Everett Freeman’s screenplay, from the performances to the execution. But It Happened on 5th Avenue is amiable enough, with the premise, as unlikely as it is, offerings sufficient fuel to keep it going, just about, over its near two-hour

Funny Farm (1988)   Proof, if proof were needed, that some moviemakers really should not stray outside their comfort zone. Spielberg quickly realised goofball, John Landis-style comedy was not his greatest strength. George Roy Hill, who showed no prior acumen or inclination towards anything one might deem ex-SNL fare, mystifyingly alighted on Funny Farm, for what would turn out to be his last film, and proceeded to flatten it into a form more suited to his tastes. With the result that it is likely to satisfy no one. Jeffrey Boam was very diplomatic in his description of Hill screwing up his adaptation of Jay

Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021)   The ultimate superhero crowd-pleaser? I think so, pretty much. He’s everyone’s favourite superhero – well, aside from those who prefer Bats, who are, of course, nuts – and it’s replete with by-and-large, the right kind of fan service, fan service that pays off far more than it drops the ball. Nevertheless, Spider-Man: No Way Home still isn’t the best Spider-Man movie. It might only be the second-best Tom Holland Spider-Man movie. It gets what it gets right really right: all those multiverse past Spidey characters. Well, except for the one(s) who were rubbish anyway. But the side effect is the parts that made MCU

The Lion in Winter (1968)   Depraved royals’ festivities. Of course, depraved royalty aren’t just for Christmas, and certainly not confined to the twelfth century. If you’re a fan of Succession, The Lion in Winter has basically the same plot, only with no central heating, an added matriarch and a penchant for sub-Shakespearian dialogue. It is also conspicuously unable to open out a theatre piece for the filmic realm. Naturally, The Lion in Winter was nominated for all the Oscars, but it rarely justifies itself as a piece of cinema in its own right. The internecine scheming, feuding and machinations of this Christmas 1183 –

The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945)   Now this, this is much closer to the “godawful Oscar-winning schmaltz” Time Out labelled its predecessor Going My Way. Albeit, The Bells of St. Mary’s went home empty handed on the night of the 18th Academy Awards (it received the most nominations of the contenders: eight including Best Picture). Instead, voters chose The Lost Weekend’s sobering tale of an alcoholic’s bender over Leo McCarey’s cockles-warming repeat of Bing Crosby being a thoroughly decent priest (I know, right?) The public were more in the mood for the schmaltz, however, with The Bells of St. Mary’s proving the biggest hit of the year by some

Trancers aka Future Cop (1984)   On the evidence of Trancers, one might easily conclude the original version of Da 5 Bloods, before Spike Lee doused it with effluent, was a much more engaging and humorous affair, since both share screenwriters Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo. And if it’s true that Jimbo Cameron was a fan of Trancers, I wouldn’t be overly surprised. Because, for all that Charles Band’s movie shamelessly rips off Blade Runner, The Terminator and – at least to some batty and highly tenuous degree – Scanners, it does so with wit and inventiveness, while being cheerfully unpretentious about its low-budget trappings and

Going My Way (1944)   Bing Crosby was winningly self-effacing when he accepted the Best Actor Oscar for his easy-going Father (Chuck) O’Malley in Going My Way: “This is the only country where an old broken-down crooner can win an Oscar for acting. It shows that everybody in this country has a chance to succeed”. One might construe he doesn’t think everybody deserves to from that, and certainly, Time Out’s Adrian Turner didn’t hold back when blasting this “godawful Oscar-winning schmaltz”. I wouldn’t go nearly that far, but it is overly enamoured of its own sanctified intentions, to the extent of almost flatulent self-indulgence,

Last Christmas (2019)   Facile Christmas fare, just pre-coof – so last, last Christmas – from the pen of premiere luvvie Emma Thompson, whose prior foray into original comedy was disastrous 1988 sketch show Thompson, and Paul Feig, whose major claim to fame henceforth will be inflicting the femidom Ghostbusters on an undeserving world. Last Christmas isn’t so much bad as aggressively smug in its affluent-Left, Blair-mare virtue signalling, helping itself to a slice of the self-satisfied romcom pie usually reserved for Richard Curtis (there’s even a reference to “middle-class do-gooders”, so Em’s at least slightly self-aware). I was quite ready to like Last Christmas,

Riders of Justice aka Retfærdighedens Ryttere (2020)   Anders Thomas Jensen’s ruminative comedy-thriller (or should that be thriller-comedy? Neither does it justice) is one of those perfectly pitched pictures that gauges its tonal shifts with deceptive ease. The kind of movie that might have been no more than a slickly well-oiled genre vehicle, satisfyingly cathartic in its action beats and laugh out loud in its eccentric character foibles, were it not for the genuinely affecting meditation on loss and forgiveness at its core. To that extent, Riders of Justice put me in mind of the work of Martin McDonagh. At the heart

The Green Knight (2021)   If there’s a very “faux” feeling to The Green Knight, that its pretensions towards depth and resonance are little more than stylistic veneer, that might be swiftly explained by writer-director David Lowery’s inspiration: he seized upon the idea while building a Willow diorama in his backyard. As we all know, or should, Willow’s more than a little bit shit. I mean, Little Ronnie Howard directed it. The Green Knight, overburdened and super inflated by a sense of its own importance, is a little bit that too, maybe. Certainly ponderous, portentous and other words beginning with po-. Consequently, The Green Knight makes for

Static (1985)   Ironically, for a director who has made his career whoring himself to the music industry – furnishing videos for such Illuminati stooges as Madonna, Jay Z, Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake and the Jackson siblings – it’s Mark Romanek’s first movie that he sees fit to disinherit. He’s much better known for his subsequent – infrequent – pictures One Hour Photo and the vastly overrated Never Let Me Go (clones as a metaphor for the Elite feeding off the general populace?) than Static, but it’s perhaps his youthful naivety, before he became enslaved to the Beast, that makes it his most interesting

When Harry Met Sally… (1989)   When Harry Met Sally… is undoubtedly indebted to the oeuvre of Woody Allen, but I disagree with those who dismissed it as a shallow steal of his best moments. It lands somewhere between the Allen of Annie Hall and the knowing New York-ness of Seinfeld (and like the latter, it is remarkably honed; there isn’t an ounce of fat on it). But what mostly distinguishes the picture is that it allows itself warmth and optimism in a manner Allen would surely have scorned. Woody’s “romcoms” were all about the bittersweet, about reflecting on the loss of love in a melancholic manner.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes 1.7: The Blue Carbuncle   Sherlock Holmes does Christmas. Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes at that. An antidote to the ghastly likes of the nu-Who festive instalments, where the only thing going for them is provoking a gag reflex for those who have overdone the turkey dinner, The Blue Carbuncle eschews saccharine and fake tinsel. Indeed, it is possessed of a proper plot, the sort of thing rarely scene in Christmas TV special episodes post-80s. Of course, that comes courtesy of the 1892 Conan Doyle original, taking a very Christmassy element – the aforementioned dinner, albeit in this case

The X-Files 6.6: How the Ghosts Stole Christmas   One of the worst things that happened to X-Files producer Chris Carter, output-wise, was witnessing the often very funny, witty contributions of his more comedically minded peers – Darin Morgan, Vince Gilligan – and deciding he’d have some of that. Because Carter’s best contributions as writer – and even, initially, as director – to the show’s early period, tended to be honed, tightly constructed mythology builders or punchy standalones. He dipped his toe in more frivolous waters with 3.13: Syzygy and failed to garner the plaudits he likely felt were due, such that he didn’t

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989)   Chevy Chase gets a bad rap. By which, I don’t mean the canvas of opinion suggesting he really is a bit of a tool in real life is misplaced, as there’s no shortage of witnesses to his antics (head of the pack probably being Bill Murray, whose brother Brian appears here as Clark’s boss). But rather that, during his – relatively brief – heyday, I was a genuine fan of his deadpan delivery in the likes of Caddyshack and Fletch. The National Lampoon’s Vacation movies, even the initial trilogy overseen by John Hughes, are very hit-and-miss affairs, but it’s

The Grinch (2018)   A pot-bellied (okay, fat) curmudgeon with a twisted sense of humour and unruly hair attempting to destroy Christmas for everyone? Never has the noxious notion had more resonance. Actually, the nightmarishly unpleasant and saccharine 2000 Jim Carrey incarnation probably bears more resemblance to How the Boris Stole Christmas! But the subtitle And Didn’t Put It Back Again at the Behest of His Masters, the Elite, as Part of Their Plan to Cull, Sterilise and Reset the Entire Global Population doesn’t quite fit Dr Seuss’ tale of a character whose heart thaws in the face of basic goodwill of all men.

The War of the Roses (1989)   Danny DeVito’s ruthless black comedy is an evergreen. Based on Warren Adler’s 1981 novel of the same name – Adler’s Random Hearts was later adapted much less successfully – it finds the director using audience familiarity with Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner and himself to sell a very different prospect to the Indy-riffing Romancing the Stone. The War of the Roses certainly wasn’t guaranteed to become the hit it did, but it’s uncompromising freshness, and its offbeat seasonality (it was released in December in the US, with an accompanying 12 Days of Christmas-riffing trailer), hit a nerve with audiences. Much

The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two (2020)   Good grief. I came late to the Queen’s Gambit party over the last week, but it’s proof Netflix doesn’t always just serve up any old crap, expectant that its passive subscribers will gratefully receive. The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two, however, their highest-profile festive offering of the year, rather confirms every worst conclusion you’d reached about the service. A sequel to their – actually quite good – 2018 movie, they couldn’t just let such amiably innocuous fare lie. No, they had to churn out a grotesquely hollow, plastic-packaged Christmas bauble of a follow up. Somehow, it has

The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause (2006)   Has there ever been a decent movie depiction of Santa’s Village? I suppose Elf intentionally took the piss, so that’s on its side. But the plastic Disneyland of the likes of The Christmas Chronicles, The Santa Clause and Santa Claus: The Movie seems to be de rigueur. Desperately devoid of festive flair. I didn’t catch up with this final Santa Clause for the sake of completism, or because I’m a particular fan of the other two, but because Martin Short is usually good value. And so he is here, when he gets the chance. But The Santa Clause 3: The Escape

Brazil (1985)   Terry Gilliam didn’t consider Brazil the very embodiment of a totalitarian nightmare, as it is often labelled. His 1984½ (one of the film’s Fellini-riffing working titles) was “the Nineteen Eighty-Four for 1984”, in contrast to Michael Anderson’s Nineteen Eighty-Four from 1948. This despite Gilliam famously boasting never to have read the Orwell’s novel: “The thing that intrigues me about certain books is that you know them even though you’ve never read them. I guess the images are archetypal”. Or as Pauline Kael observed, Brazil is to Nineteen Eighty-Four as “if you’d just heard about it over the years and it had seeped into your visual

Klaus (2019)   I guess Netflix’s negligible quality control, movie-wise, has to score a positive occasionally, and this Christmas – but fairly loosely so, ironically, in that the trappings are in scant supply for the most part – animation is an unlikely delight. A Santa Clause origins tale doesn’t sound like the stuff of a great movie – origins stories so rarely are – but Sergio Pablos’ feature debut Klaus is stylistically distinct, emotionally compelling, and frequently very funny. Which is a godsend in an animation arena where everything feels focus-tested to within an inch of its life, such that even the

White Christmas (1954)   White Christmas is one of those beloved Christmas “classics” that gets its prescribed seasonal screening(s), but I doubt most people have watched all the way through. I certainly hadn’t. Having remedied that, I’m very doubtful you’ll have gained anything by giving it your full attention, rather than having it on the background while you put your decorations up. And then wondering, when you do occasionally give it your attention, why it’s still on and nothing of consequence whatsoever appears to have happened. It seems Paramount couldn’t get Fred Astaire back with Bing Crosby following Holiday Inn, so eventually

Holiday Inn (1942)   A slender premise that sustains itself surprisingly well, most obviously because, unlike the later White Christmas, which reuses Bing Crosby and the famous song first sung here and that more-dependable-than-the-real-stuff asbestos snow, there’s a degree of conflict. Which ensures Holiday Inn isn’t just a collection ineffectual interludes between Irving Berlin numbers. Linda: I don’t know. It sounds like something you’d dream about at night and it would be wonderful. And then you’d wake up in the morning and realise it wouldn’t work. Much of the effectiveness of Holiday Inn comes from Fred Astaire’s willingness to play such a louse; on such grounds,

Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992)   Chris Columbus’s sequel to his surprise 1990 box-office sensation, again produced and scripted by John Hughes, offers more of everything. More ultra-violence, more Macauley – rather than Maclunkey – Culkin precociousness as Kevin, more desperate attempts by his parents to locate their lost son, more sentiment ladled on with shovel. And more minutes – you really feel the entirely uncalled for extra twenty of dead weight. Home Alone 2: Lost in New York does, then, offer a case of diminishing returns for what is a virtual remake, give or take relocating to New

The Santa Clause 2 (2002)   A definite surprise in this foray into Christmas movies – admittedly, most of them are revisits – is that Tim Allen’s Santa Clauses are actually okay (well, I can’t speak to the third one yet). The general aesthetic isn’t pretty – Allen in a fat suit and a nauseating North Pole that would have any legitimate Kris Kringle pulling his snow-white hair out in despair – but Allen’s intrinsic lack of cosiness ensures the sentimentality on display can only soil the proceedings so much. The Santa Clause 2 might even be more palatable than its predecessor. Much

The Santa Clause (1994)   Tim Allen’s status as a big screen star really starts and ends with The Santa Clause, in which he’s frequently buried under prosthetics. After all, you can only hear him as Buzz Lightyear and the rest of his hits are fairly random (Wild Hogs), with only one bona fide, much loved critical darling among them (Galaxy Quest). Maybe that’s because, much like, say, Jerry Seinfeld (albeit not so much politically), he always comes across as a TV guy. Which isn’t necessarily such a bad thing, as it’s only his deadpan Home Improvement persona that keeps this movie’s more

How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000)   Or How Little Ronnie Howard Committed a Celluloid Atrocity. Away from the inescapable horror of witnessing it on the big screen, How the Grinch Stole Christmas isn’t quite as relentlessly nightmarish, but it remains a hideous monstrosity of a production on almost every level, starting with the direction and then moving on to performances, costumes, music, prosthetics and art direction. The oddest thing about it is how it manages to be simultaneously grotesque and saccharine, but in neither regard with anything approaching flair or sincerity. The blame surely rests with Howard, the most workmanlike of Hollywood name directors and

Jack Frost (1998)   Horrifying variant on The Santa Clause, in which no one believes a kid, Charlie (Joseph Cross), when he claims his dad has transformed into a hallmark of Christmas. Horrifying because, while Tim Allen probably isn’t anyone’s idea of a perfect Santa, Michael Keaton definitely does not make a good snowman, even as rendered by ILM and Jim Henson’s Creature Shop. There’s also the small detail that Troy Miller, a TV comedy director drafted in at short notice, appears to have zero aptitude for the material. Or movies generally. I sensed he much preferred shooting the band footage we see

Krampus (2015)   On the evidence of Krampus, you can see why Legendary Pictures might have considered it a bright idea to enlist Michael Dougherty to direct a Godzilla movie. Much less so why they’d also ask him to write one. This horror tale, based on the anti-Saint Nick, posits the title character as the punisher of those who have lost that Christmas feeling (rather than, per se, children who have misbehaved): “It’s not what you do. It’s what you believe”. Dougherty does a solid job with the setup, but unfortunately, he then lets it all go to waste. Max (Emjay Anthony) tears

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1994)   The Nightmare Before Christmas is one of the steadily dwindling number of Tim Burton films – yes, I know it’s really directed by Henry Selick, but it’s Burton’s story and sensibility, and he’s always taken all the credit, probably quite rudely – that are upheld as unalloyed classics. And yet, I’ve never felt especially partial to it. Like Edward Scissorhands, also scripted by Caroline Thompson, it’s a tonally one-note affair: fine as far as it goes, but it doesn’t actually go that far. Pauline Kael complained of Edward Scissorhands that “Beetlejuice would have spit in this movie’s eye”

Love Actually (2003)   The movement to denounce Love Actually, presenting all the reasons you shouldn’t like it in a doomed and self-righteous attempt to counteract its alleged status as a (the?) new Christmas classic, rewarded by essential viewing at that time of the year, appears to have eclipsed the film itself. Going by Google, at any rate (and Google never lies). I wouldn’t seek to take an axe to Richard Curtis’ confection on the basis of its regressive qualities however; how many romcoms are truly praiseworthy in that regard? But rather, because, for the most part, it’s too offputtingly calculated

The Holiday (2006)   The Holiday is a half-decent festive romcom. Which is to say, one of the two romantic plotlines is decent, and the other is a mostly turgid bust. Nancy Meyers’ typically anonymous – think sub-Nora Ephron – lighter-than-lighter confection is entirely reliant on its cast for effectiveness, and as such, she gets things half right. That half is Cameron Diaz’ movie-trailer maker (there’s a raft of entirely anodyne industry commentary in The Holiday, even to the extent of James Franco and Lindsay Lohan appearing in a witless trailer for fake move Deception). Diaz takes her leave of tiny-eyed philanderer Edward Burns (seriously,

Christmas with the Coopers aka Love the Coopers (2015)   Presumably the UK title change to Christmas with the Coopers was spurred by the thought of commercial cachet, rather than the concern that Love the Coopers would elicit a response of “No, I really don’t”. Because the charms of Jessie Nelson’s Yule dog are highly resistible. Cooper and screenwriter Steven Rogers previously collaborated on the lustrous jewel that was Stepmom. Although, to be fair to Rogers, he also penned the recent I, Tonya. Cooper meanwhile, has especially damning history with the season to be jolly via a story credit on Fred Claus. Christmas with the Coopersdoesn’t, at least, supply

Bad Santa 2 (2016)   An unasked for and uninspired attempt to milk a franchise that didn’t need milking, the only surprise with Bad Santa 2 is that it occasionally does manage to raise a smile amid the rather tired attempts to replicate the first movie’s laughs. Albeit, this entails looking everywhere for ways to shock and be transgressive. You’d be forgiven for thinking the movie was on the former Weinsten Company’s slate for dusting off properties with the vaguest potential, but no, the brothers weren’t involved this time. Which puts Billy Bob Thornton squarely in the frame for its eventual materialisation. You can’t

The Night Before (2015)   It’s pretty much a given that any film featuring boorish oaf Seth Rogen will feature the consumption of copious quantities of weed – off screen and on – but he goes all in here, with a spouse-gifted pharmaceuticals bag (“It’s every single drug in the whole world”) and the chance to act off his moobs for most of the movie. And much as I have an allergic response to Rogen in all his hirsute glory, he does at times extract a mirthful response. The problem with The Night Before isn’t its potential – After Hours with a dose of Yule log – so

Mixed Nuts (1994)   The faintly desperate title says it all. Farces are deceptively difficult to get right, which is probably why so few writers try them anymore. That Nora Ephron should have deep-dived into this Christmas black comedy immediately after one of her most celebrated romcoms (and certainly the most celebrated she directed herself) only makes her errors of judgement look that much worse. Indeed, the only bits of Mixed Nuts that vaguely land are the ones with a romantic twinge. Much of Ephron’s writing here (with sister Delia) appears to mistake humorous for noisy, frenetic and laboured, compounded by a

Just Friends (2005)   By virtue of setting – icy New Jersey – Just Friends features more bona-fide Christmas trappings than many fellow Yuletide yarns. And yet, they simultaneously feel more incidental than the festive fare in many of those yarns. Essentially, this is a late-period There’s Something About Mary variant, in which the protagonist’s high school humiliations – in particular, romantically – are revisited a decade on, and he discovers, for slapstick’s sake, that he hasn’t outgrown that period nearly as much as he’d hoped. Reynolds, still a decade shy of a true star-making turn, which perhaps not incidentally was one for which

Jumanji (1995)   My main recollection of this original Jumanji-verse outing was that it was overly reliant on shoddy CGI. There is a hefty wodge of that, in particular the monkeys, but there’s also a significant physical effects element in Joe Johnston’s characteristically serviceable-but-nothing-more-than-that movie. Otherwise, while the actual environment is very different to the recent computer game-ised incarnations, it’s structurally fairly similar, in that the best of Jumanji is in the set-up, faltering somewhat once all hell breaks loose. But while the new movies have comedy antics on their side – yes, I know this one has Robin Williams, but he’s in relatively restrained

The Christmas Chronicles (2018)   Tis the season to be schmaltzy. Except, perhaps not as insufferably so as you might think. The Christmas Chronicles feels very much like a John Hughes production, which is appropriate since it’s produced by Chris Columbus, who was given his start as a director by Hughes. Think Uncle Buck, but instead of John Candy improving his nieces and nephew’s lives, you’ve got Kurt Russell’s Santa Claus bringing good cheer to the kids of the Pierce household. The latter are an indifferent duo, but they key here is Santa, and Russell brings the movie that all important irrepressible spark

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)   Yes, it’s another Shane Black screenplay set at Christmas. And, as per usual, it’s in the trappings rather than the content – aside from lost characters finding themselves, or others, during the season of goodwill. And Michelle Monaghan looking very fetching in a Santa hat. One wonders if this collection of moviemakers would get together in the current climate, since Joel Silver, Robert Downey Jr and Black all have some form of ignominy attached to their names, of various orders of seriousness, and the material itself is particularly focussed on the Babylon of vice

Home Alone (1990)   A lot of the goodwill Home Alone engendered was subsequently undone by the ubiquity of Macaulay Culkin, who stopped being wide-eyed and cute at probably about the time the immediately diminishing returns of the 1992 sequel kicked in. But he’s perfectly placed here, in what was the biggest surprise smash of its year – a year that included several who-knews such as Ghost and Dances with Wolves – even if its biggest selling point, the Tom and Jerry abuse inflicted on robbers Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern, is back ended to the point where you might accuse the trailer makers of wilful misselling.

Elf (2003)   Much as Jon Favreau deserves plaudits for making Iron Man’s success look easy, his achievement with Elf was even more unlikely. A Christmas movie that manages to be sincere without also being mushy, a comedy that’s incredibly silly but doesn’t stray from the point (as Will Ferrell movies have a tendency to do, bless his freewheeling improv) and a romance that kindles even though composed largely of bullet points (thanks enormously to Zooey Deschanel’s patented manic elfie dream girl). Buddy: Ow! Son of a nutcracker! Favreau came to the material, which had been knocking around for about a decade, with a

Miracle on 34th Street (1994)   There are sentiments in the original Miracle on 34th Street, but it isn’t weighed down with sentiment. And it has a “serious” message amid the wit and frivolity, but it isn’t overburdened by it. There’s a romance, but it’s breezy rather than stodgy. And there’s an obligatory cute kid, but she isn’t horribly precocious. And, of course, Santa Claus features, but he isn’t impossibly twinkly and ineffectual. In short, Les Mayfield’s remake makes heavy weather of everything that was sharp(ish) and inspired about the 1947 movie, and shoots the whole thing through a nightmarish soft-focus gauze designed

Miracle on 34th Street (1947)   Chances are, if you ask a random person who isn’t twelve years old to name three classic Christmas movies, one will be It’s a Wonderful Life, and one of the other two will be this evergreen tale of upholding the “right” kind of seasonally materialistic values. More recently, Chris Columbus attempted to inject a degree of commentary into his rewrite of Jingle All the Way, and cynicism towards the push-pull of a supposedly hallowed festival providing a chance to over-indulge and imbue kids with the qualities of greed and possessiveness crops up in most modern takes on

Jingle All the Way (1996)   During the decade between The Terminator and True Lies, Arnie could barely put a foot wrong commercially, and often critically too (what he did with his hands was another matter entirely…) But then, it all went pear-shaped. It would be another decade before he began governating, but movie-wise he made dud choice after dud choice; the best you could say of the best of his output during this period is that it was passable. The worst…. Jingle All the Way is generally regarded as one of his stinkers, a nadir that resulted from going back to a well

Collateral Beauty (2016)   Will Smith’s most recent attempt to take a wrecking ball to his superstardom, Collateral Beauty is one of those high-concept emotional journeys that only look like a bad idea all along when they flop (see Regarding Henry). Except that, with a plot as gnarly as this, it’s difficult to see quite how it would ever not have rubbed audiences up the wrong way. A different director might have helped, someone less thuddingly literal than David Frankel. When this kind of misguided picture gets the resounding drubbing it has, I tend to seek out positives. Sometimes, that can be quite easy – A

Die Hard (1988)   When the first Die Hard sequel was given with the green light, Hollywood plumped for the wrong Bruce Willis franchise. If they’d only waited a couple of years, the perfect vehicle for a series of movies with a wisecracking Bruno persona arrived, one Joel Silver professes lent its original title to this series: Last Boy Scout. Instead, we were treated to a – ultimately, with the promise of a fifth to come – slew of unnecessary sequels to an original that, for all its high-concept styling (and so lending itself to the spate of “Die Hard in a…” copycats), was entirely

The Conjuring 2 (2016)   There’s a view that James Wan’s horror movies fall into the category of intelligent genre fare. And, I guess, they do, to the extent that they eschew gore and put the emphasis on character and atmosphere. But that doesn’t mean they’re any less beholden to standard shock tactics than their less esteemed brethren, or that the quality of the scripting is especially remarkable. The original The Conjuring was a decent-enough picture, making the most of its period setting and reputable lead thespians while flourishing its “based on a true story” badge with a pride that masked what

The Last Boy Scout  (1991)   I only became aware of the production nightmare that was The Last Boy Scout in the last few years. It didn’t come as that much of a surprise, however, as although the movie was an instant favourite, it was instantly obvious that some extremely choppy editing had occurred, even for a Tony Scott movie, which couldn’t always quite make elegant sense of the action. It also didn’t come as enormous surprise as the other Bruce Willis would-be blockbuster of the year, Hudson Hawk, had been a much documented (at the time) production nightmare. This was at the height of Bruno’s stardom

The Polar Express (2004)   The Polar Express careers along the uncanny valley, fuelled on fatal, carbon monoxide-rich festive fumes. I’d avoided this one for a decade, pretty good going, but I figured, since it was Robert Zemeckis, I ought to at least ticket-inspect it at some point. Representing the director’s first ill-conceived plunge into performance capture, an affliction that would last the best part of a decade (thankfully we were spared his Yellow Submarine remake), The Polar Express is exactly as hollow and dispiriting as I expected. Worse, it’s the stuff of nightmares. Waxy, dead-eyed children climb aboard this adaptation of Chris Van Allsburg’s children’s

The Bishop’s Wife (1947)   Mostly amiable and ever-so-slight (Cary Grant’s angel comes down to Earth, answering David Niven’s bishop prayer, but providing a lesson in priorities), this Yuletide tale manages to conclude on a rather perverse note, particularly for fare so weightless. One would immediately assume the incongruity of casting debonair, suave charmer Grant as one of the heavenly hosts influenced the content, such that his character was obliged to profess his decidedly less-than-divine interest in the bishop’s missus. Charitably, one might suggest there’s an intentional echo of the Biblical Nephilim, whereby the appeals of the flesh led to

Arthur Christmas (2011)   At one point in Arthur Christmas, Grandsanta (Bill Nighy) commiserates regarding the way Christmas has been slicked up and polished; “Reindeer, that’s what kids want, not some spaceship!” One might suggest the same of this Sony-produced Aardman picture; “Traditional stop motion animation, that’s what viewers want, not some CGI approximation”. Arthur Christmas is inoffensive, jolly (jingling) Christmas fare with a commendable message about the importance of family and how everyone matters, but it lacks that handmade touch. It’s probably no coincidence that another lesser Aardman feature, Flushed Away, also went down the CGI route, and that both cost so much

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)   It’s a Wonderful Life is an unassailable classic, held up as an embodiment of true spirit of Christmas and a testament to all that is good and decent and indomitable in humanity. It deserves its status, even awash with unabashed sentimentality that, for once, actually seems fitting. But, with the reams of plaudits aimed at Frank Capra’s most enduring film, it is also worth playing devil’s advocate for a moment or two. One can construe a number of not nearly so life-affirming undercurrents lurking within it, both intentional and unintentional on the part of its

Wake in Fright (1971)   Ted Kotcheff’s sweltering outback drama is positioned at the very beginning of the Australian new wave. Like Walkabout, it finds a non-Antipodean filmmaker casting a perceptive eye over the country, its baked mores and behaviours. Yet while both films base themselves on the contrasts between disparate values, tonally they couldn’t be more different. Nicolas Roeg’s study sets his characters against greater forces of nature and the tentative meeting of disparate cultures. Kothceff’s film is narrower in focus but no less insightful. While Roeg’s picture is mostly elegiac in tone Wake in Fright is rough and ready, its content

Filth (2013)   The unqualified success of Trainspotting foisted upon Irvin Welsh a certain cinematic cachet, but not of the positive variety. Any subsequent attempts to adapt his novels appeared to confirm that Danny Boyle’s sophomore zeitgeist-seizing movie was the exception that proved the rule. Welsh’s work was just too difficult, unruly and controversy baiting to translate to the silver screen with any degree of coherence and fetid lustre intact. That is, until Filth came along. Generally regarded as one of his least filmable novels (which is saying something), it arrived to generally favourable reviews if not massive audience response. It’s telling, though, that

Scrooged (1988)   If attaching one’s name to classic properties can be a sign of star power on the wane (both for directors and actors), a proclivity for appearing in Christmas movies most definitely is. Just look at Vince Vaughn’s career. So was Bill Murray running on empty a mere 25 years ago? He’d gone to ground following the rejection of his straight-playing The Razor’s Edge by audiences and critics alike, meaning this was his first comedy lead since Ghostbusters four years earlier. Perhaps he thought he needed a sure-fire hit (with ghosts) to confirm he was still a marquee name. Perhaps his agent persuaded him.

The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992)   Reworking a classic of literature to accommodate a popular star or franchise is sometimes the first sign of desperate measures, an attempt to artificially inflate their waning status. Sometimes it’s purely about the easy cash grab. What studio doesn’t want the pay-off of a Christmas perennial? That this (fourth) big screen Muppets outing was also the first significant incarnation of the characters following the death of their creator might have been a portend of woe (albeit, the idea was Jim Henson’s, in the wake of Disney’s purchase). Yet The Muppet Christmas Carol might be the best.

Scrooge (1951)   New film or television adaptations of A Christmas Carol arrive every year, and Hollywood sporadically mounts lavish big screen versions. There have been modern takes (Scrooged), motion capture takes (Jim Carrey in 2009’s A Christmas Carol), muppet takes (Michael Caine – singing! – in A Muppet Christmas Carol). But the definitive version, thus far, remains this British production. And the reason is simple; Alastair Sim’s masterful performance as Ebenezer Scrooge is unbeatable. Sim, an actor blessed with the visage of one who has spent a harrowing night in a graveyard, was one of Britain’s great comic actors. He was one of

Enemy of the State (1998)   Enemy of the State is something of an anomaly; a quality conspiracy thriller borne not from any distinct political sensibility on the part of its makers but simple commercial instincts. Of course, the genre has proved highly successful over the years so it’s easy to see why big-name producers like Jerry Bruckheimer and Don Simpson would have chased that particular gravy boat. Yet they did so for some time without success; by the time the movie was made, Simpson had passed away and Bruckheimer was flying solo. It might be the only major film in

The Box of Delights 6: Leave us not Little, nor yet Dark   The final episode exhibits many of the strengths and flaws of the previous instalments. The first half wonderfully ups the stakes, only to have them effortlessly blown away. It’s a more serious error than releasing Joe minutes after he has been locked up because, even given Abner’s poor choices, he needs to be demonstrated as an effective villain. But, during the first ten minutes at least, he is at his peak. First of all, he draws an upturned pentacle on a stone wall to produce a hidden

The Box of Delights 5: Beware of Yesterday   I tend to think of the fifth episode as devoted to Kay’s journey back through time and, as the title suggests, it is the centrepiece. But it takes up barely a third of the proceedings, most of which is devote to the continued aberrant activities of Abner. It is apparently not just the box, but also Cole himself, that Abner prizes. Quite how he intends to gain access to Cole’s abilities is unclear, but he knows better than to dare risk hurting or threatening him. Abner: With the power of the past and the

The Box of Delights 3: In the darkest Cellars underneath   Despite a grimy, evocative title the third episode is the least of the six. We’re treated to a nice little triptastic dream sequence, but there are a few too many longueurs along the way. To an extent such aspects are charming (a whole scene devoted to brewing up a cold remedy) but a run of such scenes makes the whole a little too lightweight. Abner: I tell you, Sylvia. I’m tempted to get rid of Charles and his infernal ha-ha-what. The first part of the first scene finds Abner questioning

The Box of Delights 2: Where shall the ‘nighted Showman go?   The scenes within King Arthur’s Camp were filmed during June, five months apart from the snowbound Aberdeen locations that give the series such a traditional Christmassy vibe. Snow so deep the crew had to film in and around the grounds of the hotel where they were staying is supplanted by foam at Reading Castle. The sequence is most notable for the hack’n’slash enthusiasm with which Kay takes care of some wolves (Herne, now adorned in Knight’s garb, has no compunction with handing him a sword and instructing him

The Box of Delights (1984)   If you were at a formative age when it was first broadcast, a festive viewing of The Box of Delights may well have become an annual ritual. The BBC adaptation of John Masefield’s 1935 novel is perhaps the ultimate cosy yuletide treat. On a TV screen, at any rate. To an extent, this is exactly the kind of unashamedly middle class-orientated bread-and-butter period production the corporation now thinks twice about; ever so posh kids having jolly adventures in a nostalgic netherworld of Interwar Britannia. Fortunately, there’s more to it than that. There is something genuinely evocative

Gremlins (1984)   I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much-awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was

D.O.A. (1988)   There’s an assumption that all originals are superior and so remakes are necessarily inferior. And, to be fair, it’s usually true. There are exceptions to the rule, usually where the original wasn’t really all that much cop to begin with. A case in point is the 1950 D.O.A. It’s an enjoyable film noir, with a blinding premise, but it was never among the top rank of its genre. No desecration took place when this ’80s remake came long. It’s he loosest of remakes anyway, lifting the title, opening scene and method of poisoning. I readily admit that I loved this

Gold (1974)   Strange to think there was a time when Alistair MacLean and Wilbur Smith novels were regularly adapted for the big screen. It would be unfair of me to take swipes at their literary abilities, as I studiously avoided their page-turners as a lad. I have seen a fair few of the movies based on their works, however, and I suspect I’m not missing all that much. In most cases the finished articles have been forgettable, workmanlike productions, indistinct except to all but the fiercest devotees (okay, everyone knows Where Eagles Dare). Gold’s greatest claim to fame is closer to one of

The Legend of Hell House (1973)   In retrospect, 1973 looks like a banner year for the changing face of the horror movie. The writing was on the wall for Hammer, which had ruled the roost in Britain for so long, and in the US the release of The Exorcist completed a transformation of the genre that had begun with Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby; the realistic horror film, where the terror was to be found in the everyday (the home, the family). Then there was Don’t Look Now, which refracted horror tropes through a typically Nic Roeg eye, fracturing time and vision in a meditative

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010)   This isn’t so far in tone from Troll Hunter, another take on myths and fairy tales with a pitch black streak of humour running through it. Atmospherically directed by Jaimari Helander, the plot concerns an archeological dig that has exhumed Santa Claus, frozen in a block of ice for hundreds of years. But this is the original, pre-Coca Cola, Santa Claus, who preys on naughty boys and can’t abide bad language. While it initially looks as if we’re going to follow the (American-led) archeological team, the action soon switches to a Finnish boy and

A Christmas Carol (2009)   With the possible exception of Polar Express (which doesn’t really have a reason to exist in any form), it’s difficult to see why Robert Zemeckis chose the form he did for his all-CGI, motion capture movies. Other than not wanting to venture outside to make them. If we leave aside the uncanny valley aspects of the virtual cadavers that populate this retelling of Dickens’ tale, what’s most striking is that the rendering is so lacking in imagination. Sure, there’s a surfeit of virtual camera swoops and 3D giddiness… if you happen to be watching in 3D. Otherwise,

Deck the Halls (2006)   Matthew Broderick and Danny DeVito are both engaging, talented performers whose heyday was more than fifteen years before this crummy Crimbo crap was produced. Broderick’s cast as an uptight (his predominate character trait post his fortieth birthday) family man who rigorously ensures Christmas goes according to plan each year. Until new neighbour DeVito (playing a coarse, unscrupulous DeVito stereotype) moves in and upsets everything. DeVito wants his house to be seen from space, so goes to ever-increasing lengths to light it up. To Broderick’s escalating chagrin. Before long they’re engaging in a full-on feud while their spouses (Kristins

Surviving Christmas (2004)   On this evidence, it’s abundantly clear why Ben Affleck’s career was consigned to the toilet for a couple of years (and a couple more to make a proper comeback). He gets grief for 2003’s Gigli, and the whole Bennifer thing. But this! His performance is horrific (and I say that without having a particular beef against him, acting-wise), playing relentlessly upbeat ad exec Drew Latham, who pays a family (the patriarch of which is James Gandolfini) $250k (and rising) to make pretend they’re his family until midnight Christmas Day. It’s an utterly brain damaged premise, and its

Three Days of the Condor (1975)   Sandwiched between two grittier, but equally star-powered, conspiracy thrillers (The Parallax View and All the President’s Men, both from Alan J Pakula), Three Days of the Condor essays a shift from the bleak resignation of the machine (be it corporate or state) consuming all resistance that was found in the 1974 Warren Beatty picture. There, a dogged journalist finds himself completely ill-equipped for the truths he uncovers. In contrast, Condor finds its protagonist already part of the system. And, only being a lowly “bookworm” (reading manuscripts from across the Globe to sniff out hints of spy code and communication

Fred Claus (2007)   The pertinent question here is, “How does Vince Vaughn live with himself?” The answer is probably, “Quite comfortably” since he is guilty of repeat visits to the well of soulless yuletide cash-ins (the other being Four Christmases). The actor is seemingly a decade past any aspiration towards serious work and interesting roles. So he plays Santa Claus’ older, disgruntled brother. He humbugs Christmas until, in a pact to get Saint Nick to put up his bail money, he agrees to spend the festive season helping out down at the North Pole. And learns the true meaning of

Silver Linings Playbook (2012)   I’ve liked all of David O Russell’s previous films, to a greater or lesser extent, but about thirty minutes in, I was unsure whether I’d go the distance if this one was going to be nothing but two hours of Bradley Cooper going through a bi-polar meltdown. Fortunately, the introduction of the also troubled Jennifer Lawrence turns things around, and if the film ultimately ekes out a path towards a very safe, traditional place (all you need is love to remedy your condition!) that’s far preferable to what might have ended up more Requiem for a