IT’S coming up to Christmas, which means some tosser will make you sit next to them to watch a Christmas movie they love and you don’t. Like these:
Miracle on 34th Street
It’s an ironclad rule: movies with Santa in suck. Yes, all of them, yes the one with Tim Allen, yes the one with Dudley Moore. And this one combines all the suckage of a Santa movie with the bullshit of a courtroom drama where the highlight is the emptying of mailbags.
There are very few Bill Murray films that aren’t classics – even his cameo in Space Jam elevates it – and this is one of them. The story of an asshole forced by magical circumstances to stop being an asshole is way better in Groundhog Day, which has snow in it so you may as well just watch that.
It may be a Christmas film, as is the sequel, but that doesn’t mean it’s fun to watch at Christmas. Nobody hates yuppies now as vehemently as they did in the 80s, so seeing one murdered in cold blood doesn’t exactly fill the heart with seasonal cheer.
The second movie in a row where Alan Rickman ruins Christmas Eve, this garage-bought box of Ferrero Rocher is an ensemble piece in which every member of the achingly middle-class cast is a dick who doesn’t deserve to find a quid in the street, never mind love.
A child abandoned by his uncaring family turns his house into a Saw-style murder maze in which two men are horribly tortured and mutilated while he laughs maniacally. It honestly would have been kinder if he’d just shot them. Merry Christmas.