A slow but inevitable decline for Jack Black started with a stage blowout between Tenacious D and will end with Minecraft. We can kill time in the interlude with Dear Santa, a film trying to tie the knot between a child-friendly Christmas frenzy and the in-your-face attitude developments of a film catering to an older audience. Bobby Farrelly has gotten worse, somehow, after taking on the directing duties he would usually split with Academy Award-winning brother, Peter. A decade ago, Black would have been a perfect fit for Santa Claus, but like every Hollywood creation, it is dated and falls into the wrong hands. Squabbling families, a crude joke about dyslexia which does feel like a Farrelly staple and a lead performance which has such an indifferent tone from Black he may as well be part of the scenery. Dear Santa is dire stuff, a Hallmark-looking movie with a cold heart.
This is the sort of writing that makes everyone look bad. But those who are new to the field like the lead alongside Black, Robert Timothy Smith, are struggling to put it together. It is harsh for Smith but at the very least the worst lines are reserved for Black, and they are the fault of writers Peter Farrelly and Ricky Blitt. The latter has credit for Movie 43, and as uneventfully crass it may be to dunk on that decade-old film, it is a telling sign of what is to come. From the barrel-scraping face humour of Cate Freedman’s crossing guard to a cameo from Ben Stiller as though his stock in Meet the Fockers still holds weight. These are the scribbles of a team banking on the merit of two decades ago, and the aged response, the withered style of these writings, is such a snooze.
Arguing parents and the spirit of Christmas taking over would be far more fun if Dear Santa did not lean into all the wrong spots. Genuine resentment seems to flow off the screen between the parents, “as real as real can be,” as Liam Turner (Smith) says of a Satanic appearance. Black plays a caricature of his public persona, the grating rocker with a bushy beard. Just now are people noticing the cracks and it comes in large blows of a generally uninspired and weary performance where the meaning of Christmas is steamrolled and crucified. Generally uninspired work and seeing Black’s bulging belly in some slick leather jumpsuit is not comedy. His vocal choice is uninspired, his Satanic look is more like a cheap Halloween costume thrown at the last minute and everything from the writing of his Devilish nature through to its impact on the film, has no purpose.
But neither does Dear Santa, a comedy blowout with such limited scope for the festive season and uneventful experiences it may as well just show the characters holding placards detailing the conclusion of their uninspired narrative arc. Family this, Christmastime thrills that, it all goes on and on with little momentum, even less humour. Unfunny for all ages. The festive spills are so expected, the gags so obvious, that it is hard to feel any love or interest for the jokes unfolding. Even the heartwarming need for a child to feel their grief, to unbox it and understand it, is just revolting. Stab the knife of grief in, twist and fill the wound with cheap shot jokes that undermine the very sense of family grief holding it together.
