An alcoholic, self-loathing, store Santa (Billy Bob Thornton) and a mastermind dwarf (Tony Cox) rob department stores at Christmastime.
Here is a film that assaults the overripe icons of Christmas, laying low the sickly-sweet sacred cows with a “take no prisoners” roar—except it doesn’t. It’s more like a troop of girl scouts knocking politely at the door and then wandering off dejectedly. Nothing here shakes the foundation of the holiday season. Thornton plays Willie, who drinks a lot, swears a lot, and is rude to children a lot. It’s pretty much the same bit played over and over. He meets up with a geeky kid and an attractive bartender (Lauren Graham) with a Santa fetish who lends the film its tender moments (did this film need tender moments?). Graham is woefully underused. She pops up but does little. The same is true of Bernie Mac who is supposed to be the store detective villain of the piece (does this film need a villain?). He is in the film too little for any depth, but too much for the little he is given to do. It all ends with as near a Hollywood ending as the filmmakers could manage while still meekly claiming to be anti-social.
Critics have tripped over themselves praising Bad Santa for its boldness in being shocking and gleefully offensive, and it leads me to wonder what kind of monk-like lives they have led. I don’t think of myself as all that wild, but it takes a bit more than a depressed guy in a Santa suit urinating on himself and swearing to alter my worldview. If hearing the word “fuck” repeatedly is all it takes to jolt these reviewers, then I can take them down to the local high school for a chat with the students that will blow their minds.