Spirited Review

Festive classics are not as common as they used to be. Whether that is because of a genuine lack of quality or a lack of time given between release and reception, is not quite knowable yet. During that period of unknowable wavering, where people attempt to strap The Polar Express to the “Christmas classic” tag, it is easier to disregard some newer releases gunning for festive credibility. Spirited is one of them, and one that fails. A Christmas Karen has more charm to it than this devilish beast from Ryan Reynolds and Will Ferrell, which holds firm to its acts of A Christmas Carol carnage. Spirited attempts to do so too, opening with the end, rather than the beginning, of that Charles Dickens classic.

What settles rather uncomfortably is that, once again, the spirit of Christmas and its modernity of it showcase the most wonderful time of the year as a stringent-yet-comical business. There is a lack of imagination there, from Fatman to Elf to The Santa Claus. Stereotypical depictions of Christmas peaked when Fred Claus had Vince Vaughn wreaking havoc in the tamest of surroundings. Spirited is not the first Ferrell piece to award some mystical entity the chance to work hard at his career while covered in snow, and it will likely not be the last. Despite the surprisingly high production value, there is a lack of sentimentality featured throughout because the cast hope they’ll be getting called up to some Hamilton remake.

Musical numbers are frequent and unfortunately not over before the audience knows it. They riff on A Christmas Carol, note that they are the copycat effect and move it swiftly on. Spirited is another mark of American incompetence, only that audience and set of genre-lovers could be given a free pass to enjoy this. Reynolds’ leading role as Clint Briggs is another showcase of his one comedic ability, which audiences can also get from his Twitter feed or adverts of his football club documentary. It is another ineffective portrayal from the man that made Deadpool a serviceable commodity to the Marvel machine, and another showcase of the Christmas spirit as a message to be shoehorned into the lives of those that care for the self and not much else.

Still, if a Judi Dench cameo and a musical number cannot solve the scourge of festive misgivings, what can? Nothing. Ferrell gets a free pass after his immaculate conception of Elf, but Reynolds has his work cut out for him. Perhaps some of the ghosts of Christmas should visit director Sean Anders and tell him, really tell him, to stop making comic features. His post-commercialisation of Christmas in the form of fourth-wall breaks and mockeries of the very genre it takes place in are empty and as annoying as the festive season gets. Festive misery that takes the worst parts of The Polar Express and pushes them down the throats of those that have vague memories of Ferrell being a solid Christmas draw. There is nothing to love about a feature that hopes to turn the story of Ebeneezer Scrooge into a very generic, washed and dense series of musical numbers.