Post by avalon on Nov 10, 2007 9:05:00 GMT 9.5
LOVE ALL
AVALON
Fred Claus
One scene . . .
Grade: C
Director: David Dobkin (Wedding Crashers)
Screenplay: Dan Fogelman (Cars)
Cast: Vince Vaughan (Wedding Crashers), Paul Giamatti (Sideways)
Rating: PG
by John DeSando, WCBE’s It’s Movie Time
My favorite Christmas film is Billy Bob Thornton's Bad Santa, whose foul mouthed, child endangering store man-in-red is my cup of iconoclasm. Vince Vaughan's Fred Claus, the bad-boy brother of Nick (Paul Giamatti), is nowhere near as bad as Thornton's in a tepid tale of brotherly love saved only by one scene as potentially funny as any other this year. I expected more from David Dobkin, director or of Wedding Crashers.
Hidden in the glossy, gingerbread CGI'd North Pole is a story of sibling rivalry between the jovial older brother, Santa, and the younger miscreant, Fred, who has to visit his always-beloved-by-mom bro to get money to start another get-rich-quick scheme. How it all resolves is a given, but along the way is a scene at Siblings Anonymous that could have been a classic of pop-referential, Freudian psychological fun staged as therapy group of not-famous brothers in a circle out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
When Roger Clinton, Frank Stallone, and Stephen Baldwin whine about their famous brothers, there is triple fun: They resemble the famous ones; they confess as they might have in a real therapy group; and they do illuminate the complex nature of Fred's dealing with his better known and nicer brother. The drive-by therapy makes Fred a kinder, gentler brother and us a little bit more understanding about the fallout from celebrity.
But the film, Fred Claus, is inferior comedy, garnering a few laughs mostly from slapstick that too frequently involves little people. It's a Christmas joy to see Charlene's (Elizabeth Banks) cleavage, a naughty but nice touch :oin an otherwise sexless farce (Miranda Richardson as Mrs. Claus! Has time gone by that fast or has Miranda fallen that far?). It's depressing to see Kevin Spacey play the naughty villain, Clyde, because Spacey looks as if he'd rather be belting out the Bard back in Britain, or perhaps reprising his finely wrought Lex Luthor.
Merry Christmas. I miss you, Bad Santa.
`Claus' for concern: Unfunny comedy
Holiday dud has a bag full of awkward, trite for children and adults
CARLA MEYER
The Charlotte Observer
The talent attached to "Fred Claus" boggles the mind: Paul Giamatti, Miranda Richardson, Rachel Weisz, Kevin Spacey, Kathy Bates.
That these people, either Oscar winners or nominees, appear in the same film isn't what's striking, because only Giamatti has a major role. It's that they all chose to appear in "Fred Claus," a lackluster holiday-theme comedy featuring production design half a notch above the interior of a snow globe and a star who doesn't so much act as revive a well-worn persona.
Sometimes Vince Vaughn gives a performance inflected by Vaughn-isms, as he did in "Into the Wild." At other times, he's all Vaughn with a few hints of performance. That's his approach to the character of Fred Claus, elder brother to that ol' spotlight thief Santa Claus (Giamatti).
Diehard fans will be entertained at times by Vaughn's rapid-fire insolence and faux innocence. But even more so than Donner or Blitzen, Vaughn needs to be reined in. And he isn't. Fully indulged by his "Wedding Crashers" director David Dobkin, Vaughn spouts, waits for whoever else is talking to stop talking, then spouts again.
Even though he's less naughty than usual, Vaughn doesn't seem suited to a PG-rated film aimed at kids. Some of his riffs are too "inside" even for adults. At one point, Fred threatens to hire a lawyer with a lot of vowels in his last name. What does that mean?
"Fred Claus" starts out long ago in a storybook setting where the sainthood-bound Nicholas outshines his brother at every turn -- and Mama Claus (Bates) makes sure Fred knows it. Fast-forward to present-day Chicago (saints and their families stay the same age forever, we're told), where a grown-up, embittered Fred delivers furniture, barely romances his traffic-control officer girlfriend (Weisz, winning in a limited role) and gives bad advice to a young neighbor (a very cute Bobb'e J. Thompson).
It's all just prelude to get Fred, who is seeking a substantial amount of cash from the younger brother he never sees, to the North Pole to earn the money as one of Santa's helpers. Mrs. Claus (Richardson), rightly wary of her ne'er-do-well brother-in-law, doesn't think this is a good idea. But Nick, played by Giamatti as stressed out but too bighearted to say no to Fred, insists that his brother make the trip.
Fred gets a ride via Santa's sleigh and head elf. The elf is played by John Michael Higgins ("A Mighty Wind," "The Break-Up"), whose head was digitally grafted onto a body double. Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, playing the DJ at Santa's workshop, underwent a similar process.
The special effects are seamless, yet unsettling. Placing digitally created characters among real little people playing elves seems disrespectful.
The movie's comedic antics are tired, even by the very low standards of modern-day holiday films. A dance scene and a 12-step-program parody compete for most awkwardly unfunny moment.
A subplot that has an efficiency expert (Kevin Spacey) threatening to shut down Santa's operation never catches on. While it's fine for Spacey to take a second-banana villain role in "Superman Returns," he's too good for a third-banana villain role in "Fred Claus." But he does get to share a heartfelt moment with Giamatti in a scene that far outclasses the rest of the film. REVIEW
Fred Claus
DIRECTOR: David Dobkin.
LENGTH: 114 minutes.
RATING: PG (mild language and some rude humor).
Theaters
9 November 2007
‘Fred’ Ends Up Being a Fine Claus
SOURCE:.popmatters
FRED CLAUS (dir. David Dobkin)
Christmas is a mess. It’s not sacrilegious to say it. Between the remaining religious significance, the retail desire to cram the celebration down our throats earlier and earlier, and the ‘ME! ME! ME!’ sense of materialization and entitlement, it’s hard to figure out a proper yuletide reaction. There is still a lot of inherent magic in the holiday, but there’s an ever increasing amount of grief, gratuity, and groveling too. Alt-rock darlings Low provide the perfect analogy to the season with their Gap Ad special—a cover version of the classic “Little Drummer Boy”. Applying a shoe-gazing slowness to the track, and amplifying the angst by using a single sample from Goblin’s soundtrack for the George Romero zombie stomp Dawn of the Dead, they captured the sullied season in a nutshell. Oddly enough, David Dobkin’s Fred Claus is a similarly styled mixed message. It takes the standard Noel and gives it a good old tweak in the tinsel.
Ever since he was a boy, Fred had to live in the sainted shadow of his practically perfect younger sibling Nicholas. As they aged, the constant doting of their mother and the growing gregarious nature of little “Santa” finally got to his big brother. Irritation turned to ire, and when a prized possession is suddenly destroyed, Fred decides he no longer needs the Claus clan. He winds up in the Windy City, playing repo man. While his woman Wanda puts up with his issues, it’s street kid Slam that really appreciates his cynical poses. After getting arrested in a charity scam, Fred looks for someone to bail him out. Sadly, only Santa is available. He agrees to help his distant relative on one condition—he must come to the North Pole and work in his little brother’s toy concern. Initially reluctant, Fred signs on, and it’s a good thing too, since evil Efficiency Expert Clyde Northcutt has just arrived—and he’s looking to put the jolly old elf out of business.
Fred Claus is the perfect post-millennial holiday film. It’s funny, smart, wicked, warm, and above all, completely clued-in to our growing crass commercialization of Christmas. It’s a movie steeped in mythos, overflowing with heart, and devilishly deceptive about its contrasting seasonal dichotomy. On the one hand, the narrative wants to champion a theme of “no bad children”, arguing that Santa’s outdated “naughty or nice” judgment misses the much bigger picture. Yet there’s an equally effective subtext which hints that such touchy feely pronouncements have ruined the real spirit of the holiday, a time when giving was based on your approach to life the other 364 days out of the year, not just your status as an annual gift machine. While it may not have been the intention of director David Dobkin, Fred Claus exposes the layers of fake sentiment that tends to destroy every celebration. Instead, he boils Christmas down to its iconic basics—snow, Santa, smiling faces—and then encloses it all in a veil of dysfunction which wants to mirror everyday existence.
Oddly enough, it’s not Vince Vaughn’s Fred who’s the main culprit. He’s supposed to corrupt our silent night. Capable of playing both way big and too small, he’s just right here—angry but approachable, selfish but not completely self-centered. And Kevin Spacey’s Nortcutt is not the killjoy either. Granted, he’s the stereotypical bureaucrat that manages to stamp out the joy of such a season (he could kill a kitten’s inherent cuteness), but he’s nothing but a bully, a plot point waiting for its comeuppance. Other potential suspects include Mrs. Claus (Miranda Richardson), the very definition of a silent shrew, and the perplexed parents (Kathy Bates and Brit Trevor Peacock) who dote on their gift giving offspring without once considering Fred’s feelings. So who’s the biggest baddy of them all in this film filled with potential problem makers? Why Santa of course.
Fred Claus’s single genius stroke is to make Paul Giamatti’s interpretation of the Christmas fixture a flailing, neurotic mess. Old St. Nick is a walking disaster, a stressed out soul who’s eating away his troubles. As a child, we see how, sometimes, Santa was misguided in his decisions. He believes he can gift issues away, and as he grows older, he keeps toys away from deserving kids because he won’t make quota if everyone gets a present. While it’s very sly and almost too subtle, Dobkin delivers a red suited symbol who’s at the end of his rope. He’s just a single bad business report from going postal—and Fred may be the fuel to start such a shooting spree. Of course, Fred Claus never careens that far over into bleak black comedy, but a great many of the gags here are definitely based in anger, desperation, and interpersonal shame.
Certainly this is not a perfect film. A tiny elf character named Willy, essayed by Christopher Guest regular John Michael Higgins, is about as convincing as the CGI used to render his miniature status. We know he lusts after the human sized Charlene, but his motives are really unclear. Similarly, there’s a lot of unexplored potential in the tiny DJ played by rapper Ludicris. The talented artist is more or less wasted in what amounts to an uncreative cameo. There are scenes that don’t really go anywhere (an intervention with Fred falls flat) and Oscar winning actress Rachel Weisz is a weird choice for a Chicago meter maid. Her relationship with Fred is fine, but her presence in the US is never explained. Some could argue that for a funny business fantasy that intends to do nothing more than make you laugh and enliven your spirit, Fred Claus need not be flawless. But when there’s so much good material surrounding them, the miscues are more than evident.
Still, it’s hard to hate a Christmas movie that allows Roger Clinton, Stephen Baldwin, and Frank Stallone to riff on and rip on their far more famous siblings, and there is a wonderful montage toward the end that effortlessly captures the reasons for the season. And thanks to the bifurcated back and forth, the constant countermanding of wholesomeness with hackwork, tradition with the tainted and the tasteless, we wind up with a reflection of post-millennial holiday cheer. Some will come in expecting Bad Santa meshed with Wedding Crashers, but Fred Claus is friendlier, more away in a manger manageable than such a hard R conceit would create. This is truly a family film, albeit it one that acknowledges that you too hate the annual ridiculousness of such forced reunions. If Xmas has become a royal pain in the credit, this highly enjoyable romp knows the reasons why. Somewhere along the line, we lost the true meaning of decking the halls. Fred Claus won’t help you rediscover the significance, but it will make forgetting a whole lot more understandable.
Review: 'Fred Claus' is ho, ho, horrible
SOURCE: San Francisco Chronicle
Mick LaSalle, Chronicle Movie Critic
Friday, November 9, 2007
Fred Claus: Comedy-drama. Starring Vince Vaughn, Paul Giamatti, Miranda Richardson, Rachel Weisz and Kevin Spacey. Directed by David Dobkin. (PG. 110 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
Vince Vaughn as Santa's black-sheep older brother. That sounded funny enough. But "Fred Claus" is a complete bust, derivative and uninspired, boring and dull, not funny, not moving and about a half hour too long. It makes a beeline for mawkishness at every turn, but all its emotions are unearned and false. This is just plain bad - and it's a surprise.
The advertising suggests a fun collision between the blithe, fast-talking, wise-guy persona created by Vaughn and the sentimental conventions of a holiday movie. But Vaughn isn't the usual Vaughn here. He's not happy with himself. Fred was wounded in childhood by his parents' preference for Nicholas (the future St. Nick), and believe it or not, the movie doesn't play that childhood trauma for laughs. Fred has some baggage, and those bags aren't filled with toys.
The story needs to get Fred to the North Pole, and to do that, a cumbersome plot contrivance involving jail and bail and a promise of $50,000 is created. It's amazingly clumsy, but when Vaughn finally gets into the flying sleigh, it's the one good thing in the movie. An elf, who drives like a New York cabdriver, takes Fred on a fast ride from Chicago to the North Pole, a pretty trip with steep ascents and descents. It's nice to look at, and so is Santa's workshop, which has the Technicolor hues of a 1940s department store.
But very little else is pretty. Paul Giamatti plays Santa as sad and saintly, and it's an OK approach, but he's made up to look as if he's about to have a heart attack. His beard is sparse and ratty, his hair is scraggly, and he's so obese he can barely walk. Normally, Santa is depicted as robust. But in "Fred Claus," we're told that he has acid reflux and sleep apnea. This is the first time I ever wondered about Santa's blood pressure.
And what is Kevin Spacey doing in a Christmas movie? Spacey could curdle eggnog just by looking at it. Here he plays an efficiency expert who has come to check out Santa Claus' operation at the request of the board of directors. How's that for an ugly and unwelcome element in a Christmas movie? Santa has a board of directors and needs a good report from a character so icy and unsmiling that they needed Kevin Spacey to play him. Not only is none of this fun, it's just more clumsy and unnecessary plotting. The movie should have been about Santa and his brother, with all this peripheral stuff left out.
There's a scene in "Fred Claus" that shows how far the movie goes off the tracks. At one point, his family and friends, upset by Fred's behavior, stage an intervention. That could have been funny, and had the movie exploited the absurdity of its premise, it would have been. Instead the screenplay takes everything seriously - Fred's angst, Santa's health problems, Santa's financial problems, Fred's relationship with his parents and his girlfriend - and so it's dead. The word "intervention" is the first and last laugh the scene gets.
Rachel Weisz plays the girlfriend, and though she doesn't have much to do, Weisz is incapable of making a movie worse. Same goes for Kathy Bates, who shows up in a few scenes as the Claus matriarch. Money went into this, name actors were hired and special effects were accomplished with panache. But somebody forgot about a script.
-- Advisory: Some mildly suggestive dancing.
AVALON
Fred Claus
One scene . . .
Grade: C
Director: David Dobkin (Wedding Crashers)
Screenplay: Dan Fogelman (Cars)
Cast: Vince Vaughan (Wedding Crashers), Paul Giamatti (Sideways)
Rating: PG
by John DeSando, WCBE’s It’s Movie Time
My favorite Christmas film is Billy Bob Thornton's Bad Santa, whose foul mouthed, child endangering store man-in-red is my cup of iconoclasm. Vince Vaughan's Fred Claus, the bad-boy brother of Nick (Paul Giamatti), is nowhere near as bad as Thornton's in a tepid tale of brotherly love saved only by one scene as potentially funny as any other this year. I expected more from David Dobkin, director or of Wedding Crashers.
Hidden in the glossy, gingerbread CGI'd North Pole is a story of sibling rivalry between the jovial older brother, Santa, and the younger miscreant, Fred, who has to visit his always-beloved-by-mom bro to get money to start another get-rich-quick scheme. How it all resolves is a given, but along the way is a scene at Siblings Anonymous that could have been a classic of pop-referential, Freudian psychological fun staged as therapy group of not-famous brothers in a circle out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
When Roger Clinton, Frank Stallone, and Stephen Baldwin whine about their famous brothers, there is triple fun: They resemble the famous ones; they confess as they might have in a real therapy group; and they do illuminate the complex nature of Fred's dealing with his better known and nicer brother. The drive-by therapy makes Fred a kinder, gentler brother and us a little bit more understanding about the fallout from celebrity.
But the film, Fred Claus, is inferior comedy, garnering a few laughs mostly from slapstick that too frequently involves little people. It's a Christmas joy to see Charlene's (Elizabeth Banks) cleavage, a naughty but nice touch :oin an otherwise sexless farce (Miranda Richardson as Mrs. Claus! Has time gone by that fast or has Miranda fallen that far?). It's depressing to see Kevin Spacey play the naughty villain, Clyde, because Spacey looks as if he'd rather be belting out the Bard back in Britain, or perhaps reprising his finely wrought Lex Luthor.
Merry Christmas. I miss you, Bad Santa.
`Claus' for concern: Unfunny comedy
Holiday dud has a bag full of awkward, trite for children and adults
CARLA MEYER
The Charlotte Observer
The talent attached to "Fred Claus" boggles the mind: Paul Giamatti, Miranda Richardson, Rachel Weisz, Kevin Spacey, Kathy Bates.
That these people, either Oscar winners or nominees, appear in the same film isn't what's striking, because only Giamatti has a major role. It's that they all chose to appear in "Fred Claus," a lackluster holiday-theme comedy featuring production design half a notch above the interior of a snow globe and a star who doesn't so much act as revive a well-worn persona.
Sometimes Vince Vaughn gives a performance inflected by Vaughn-isms, as he did in "Into the Wild." At other times, he's all Vaughn with a few hints of performance. That's his approach to the character of Fred Claus, elder brother to that ol' spotlight thief Santa Claus (Giamatti).
Diehard fans will be entertained at times by Vaughn's rapid-fire insolence and faux innocence. But even more so than Donner or Blitzen, Vaughn needs to be reined in. And he isn't. Fully indulged by his "Wedding Crashers" director David Dobkin, Vaughn spouts, waits for whoever else is talking to stop talking, then spouts again.
Even though he's less naughty than usual, Vaughn doesn't seem suited to a PG-rated film aimed at kids. Some of his riffs are too "inside" even for adults. At one point, Fred threatens to hire a lawyer with a lot of vowels in his last name. What does that mean?
"Fred Claus" starts out long ago in a storybook setting where the sainthood-bound Nicholas outshines his brother at every turn -- and Mama Claus (Bates) makes sure Fred knows it. Fast-forward to present-day Chicago (saints and their families stay the same age forever, we're told), where a grown-up, embittered Fred delivers furniture, barely romances his traffic-control officer girlfriend (Weisz, winning in a limited role) and gives bad advice to a young neighbor (a very cute Bobb'e J. Thompson).
It's all just prelude to get Fred, who is seeking a substantial amount of cash from the younger brother he never sees, to the North Pole to earn the money as one of Santa's helpers. Mrs. Claus (Richardson), rightly wary of her ne'er-do-well brother-in-law, doesn't think this is a good idea. But Nick, played by Giamatti as stressed out but too bighearted to say no to Fred, insists that his brother make the trip.
Fred gets a ride via Santa's sleigh and head elf. The elf is played by John Michael Higgins ("A Mighty Wind," "The Break-Up"), whose head was digitally grafted onto a body double. Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, playing the DJ at Santa's workshop, underwent a similar process.
The special effects are seamless, yet unsettling. Placing digitally created characters among real little people playing elves seems disrespectful.
The movie's comedic antics are tired, even by the very low standards of modern-day holiday films. A dance scene and a 12-step-program parody compete for most awkwardly unfunny moment.
A subplot that has an efficiency expert (Kevin Spacey) threatening to shut down Santa's operation never catches on. While it's fine for Spacey to take a second-banana villain role in "Superman Returns," he's too good for a third-banana villain role in "Fred Claus." But he does get to share a heartfelt moment with Giamatti in a scene that far outclasses the rest of the film. REVIEW
Fred Claus
DIRECTOR: David Dobkin.
LENGTH: 114 minutes.
RATING: PG (mild language and some rude humor).
Theaters
9 November 2007
‘Fred’ Ends Up Being a Fine Claus
SOURCE:.popmatters
FRED CLAUS (dir. David Dobkin)
Christmas is a mess. It’s not sacrilegious to say it. Between the remaining religious significance, the retail desire to cram the celebration down our throats earlier and earlier, and the ‘ME! ME! ME!’ sense of materialization and entitlement, it’s hard to figure out a proper yuletide reaction. There is still a lot of inherent magic in the holiday, but there’s an ever increasing amount of grief, gratuity, and groveling too. Alt-rock darlings Low provide the perfect analogy to the season with their Gap Ad special—a cover version of the classic “Little Drummer Boy”. Applying a shoe-gazing slowness to the track, and amplifying the angst by using a single sample from Goblin’s soundtrack for the George Romero zombie stomp Dawn of the Dead, they captured the sullied season in a nutshell. Oddly enough, David Dobkin’s Fred Claus is a similarly styled mixed message. It takes the standard Noel and gives it a good old tweak in the tinsel.
Ever since he was a boy, Fred had to live in the sainted shadow of his practically perfect younger sibling Nicholas. As they aged, the constant doting of their mother and the growing gregarious nature of little “Santa” finally got to his big brother. Irritation turned to ire, and when a prized possession is suddenly destroyed, Fred decides he no longer needs the Claus clan. He winds up in the Windy City, playing repo man. While his woman Wanda puts up with his issues, it’s street kid Slam that really appreciates his cynical poses. After getting arrested in a charity scam, Fred looks for someone to bail him out. Sadly, only Santa is available. He agrees to help his distant relative on one condition—he must come to the North Pole and work in his little brother’s toy concern. Initially reluctant, Fred signs on, and it’s a good thing too, since evil Efficiency Expert Clyde Northcutt has just arrived—and he’s looking to put the jolly old elf out of business.
Fred Claus is the perfect post-millennial holiday film. It’s funny, smart, wicked, warm, and above all, completely clued-in to our growing crass commercialization of Christmas. It’s a movie steeped in mythos, overflowing with heart, and devilishly deceptive about its contrasting seasonal dichotomy. On the one hand, the narrative wants to champion a theme of “no bad children”, arguing that Santa’s outdated “naughty or nice” judgment misses the much bigger picture. Yet there’s an equally effective subtext which hints that such touchy feely pronouncements have ruined the real spirit of the holiday, a time when giving was based on your approach to life the other 364 days out of the year, not just your status as an annual gift machine. While it may not have been the intention of director David Dobkin, Fred Claus exposes the layers of fake sentiment that tends to destroy every celebration. Instead, he boils Christmas down to its iconic basics—snow, Santa, smiling faces—and then encloses it all in a veil of dysfunction which wants to mirror everyday existence.
Oddly enough, it’s not Vince Vaughn’s Fred who’s the main culprit. He’s supposed to corrupt our silent night. Capable of playing both way big and too small, he’s just right here—angry but approachable, selfish but not completely self-centered. And Kevin Spacey’s Nortcutt is not the killjoy either. Granted, he’s the stereotypical bureaucrat that manages to stamp out the joy of such a season (he could kill a kitten’s inherent cuteness), but he’s nothing but a bully, a plot point waiting for its comeuppance. Other potential suspects include Mrs. Claus (Miranda Richardson), the very definition of a silent shrew, and the perplexed parents (Kathy Bates and Brit Trevor Peacock) who dote on their gift giving offspring without once considering Fred’s feelings. So who’s the biggest baddy of them all in this film filled with potential problem makers? Why Santa of course.
Fred Claus’s single genius stroke is to make Paul Giamatti’s interpretation of the Christmas fixture a flailing, neurotic mess. Old St. Nick is a walking disaster, a stressed out soul who’s eating away his troubles. As a child, we see how, sometimes, Santa was misguided in his decisions. He believes he can gift issues away, and as he grows older, he keeps toys away from deserving kids because he won’t make quota if everyone gets a present. While it’s very sly and almost too subtle, Dobkin delivers a red suited symbol who’s at the end of his rope. He’s just a single bad business report from going postal—and Fred may be the fuel to start such a shooting spree. Of course, Fred Claus never careens that far over into bleak black comedy, but a great many of the gags here are definitely based in anger, desperation, and interpersonal shame.
Certainly this is not a perfect film. A tiny elf character named Willy, essayed by Christopher Guest regular John Michael Higgins, is about as convincing as the CGI used to render his miniature status. We know he lusts after the human sized Charlene, but his motives are really unclear. Similarly, there’s a lot of unexplored potential in the tiny DJ played by rapper Ludicris. The talented artist is more or less wasted in what amounts to an uncreative cameo. There are scenes that don’t really go anywhere (an intervention with Fred falls flat) and Oscar winning actress Rachel Weisz is a weird choice for a Chicago meter maid. Her relationship with Fred is fine, but her presence in the US is never explained. Some could argue that for a funny business fantasy that intends to do nothing more than make you laugh and enliven your spirit, Fred Claus need not be flawless. But when there’s so much good material surrounding them, the miscues are more than evident.
Still, it’s hard to hate a Christmas movie that allows Roger Clinton, Stephen Baldwin, and Frank Stallone to riff on and rip on their far more famous siblings, and there is a wonderful montage toward the end that effortlessly captures the reasons for the season. And thanks to the bifurcated back and forth, the constant countermanding of wholesomeness with hackwork, tradition with the tainted and the tasteless, we wind up with a reflection of post-millennial holiday cheer. Some will come in expecting Bad Santa meshed with Wedding Crashers, but Fred Claus is friendlier, more away in a manger manageable than such a hard R conceit would create. This is truly a family film, albeit it one that acknowledges that you too hate the annual ridiculousness of such forced reunions. If Xmas has become a royal pain in the credit, this highly enjoyable romp knows the reasons why. Somewhere along the line, we lost the true meaning of decking the halls. Fred Claus won’t help you rediscover the significance, but it will make forgetting a whole lot more understandable.
Review: 'Fred Claus' is ho, ho, horrible
SOURCE: San Francisco Chronicle
Mick LaSalle, Chronicle Movie Critic
Friday, November 9, 2007
Fred Claus: Comedy-drama. Starring Vince Vaughn, Paul Giamatti, Miranda Richardson, Rachel Weisz and Kevin Spacey. Directed by David Dobkin. (PG. 110 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
Vince Vaughn as Santa's black-sheep older brother. That sounded funny enough. But "Fred Claus" is a complete bust, derivative and uninspired, boring and dull, not funny, not moving and about a half hour too long. It makes a beeline for mawkishness at every turn, but all its emotions are unearned and false. This is just plain bad - and it's a surprise.
The advertising suggests a fun collision between the blithe, fast-talking, wise-guy persona created by Vaughn and the sentimental conventions of a holiday movie. But Vaughn isn't the usual Vaughn here. He's not happy with himself. Fred was wounded in childhood by his parents' preference for Nicholas (the future St. Nick), and believe it or not, the movie doesn't play that childhood trauma for laughs. Fred has some baggage, and those bags aren't filled with toys.
The story needs to get Fred to the North Pole, and to do that, a cumbersome plot contrivance involving jail and bail and a promise of $50,000 is created. It's amazingly clumsy, but when Vaughn finally gets into the flying sleigh, it's the one good thing in the movie. An elf, who drives like a New York cabdriver, takes Fred on a fast ride from Chicago to the North Pole, a pretty trip with steep ascents and descents. It's nice to look at, and so is Santa's workshop, which has the Technicolor hues of a 1940s department store.
But very little else is pretty. Paul Giamatti plays Santa as sad and saintly, and it's an OK approach, but he's made up to look as if he's about to have a heart attack. His beard is sparse and ratty, his hair is scraggly, and he's so obese he can barely walk. Normally, Santa is depicted as robust. But in "Fred Claus," we're told that he has acid reflux and sleep apnea. This is the first time I ever wondered about Santa's blood pressure.
And what is Kevin Spacey doing in a Christmas movie? Spacey could curdle eggnog just by looking at it. Here he plays an efficiency expert who has come to check out Santa Claus' operation at the request of the board of directors. How's that for an ugly and unwelcome element in a Christmas movie? Santa has a board of directors and needs a good report from a character so icy and unsmiling that they needed Kevin Spacey to play him. Not only is none of this fun, it's just more clumsy and unnecessary plotting. The movie should have been about Santa and his brother, with all this peripheral stuff left out.
There's a scene in "Fred Claus" that shows how far the movie goes off the tracks. At one point, his family and friends, upset by Fred's behavior, stage an intervention. That could have been funny, and had the movie exploited the absurdity of its premise, it would have been. Instead the screenplay takes everything seriously - Fred's angst, Santa's health problems, Santa's financial problems, Fred's relationship with his parents and his girlfriend - and so it's dead. The word "intervention" is the first and last laugh the scene gets.
Rachel Weisz plays the girlfriend, and though she doesn't have much to do, Weisz is incapable of making a movie worse. Same goes for Kathy Bates, who shows up in a few scenes as the Claus matriarch. Money went into this, name actors were hired and special effects were accomplished with panache. But somebody forgot about a script.
-- Advisory: Some mildly suggestive dancing.