The only happy endings Santa impersonator Willie Tugboat Soke (Billy Bob Thornton) believes in are those accompanied with a ho, ho, hole and a salty discharge from his sack. As for every cloud having a silver lining, seeing the world through a glass half-full and festive tales of redemption, his response would be that of Jacob Marley’s miserly associate: bah humbug! For as he informs us during his gravel-voiced opening narration during which he loses his job as a parking valet after being distracted by a breastfeeding MILF: “Let me just say, my whole life has been one whole fucking nightmare.” A fitting description of what follows.

Jokes about tea-bagging and butt-fucking have their place. But when all the jokes are about that, nausea sets in and the mind wanders. Quite what Thornton and Kathy Bates as his tattooed-motherfucker from hell Sunny Soke saw in the script by Johnny Rosenthal and Shauna Cross is beyond me. Apart from dollar signs, of course. Because it is bloated, wordy and give or take the odd flight of fancy (Willie is accused of selling his blood for booze because he looks like “an albino scarecrow”) barely raises a titter.

The performers try their best – including the diminutive Tony Cox reprising his role as Marcus “The Prince” Skidmore and Octavia Spencer in a brief cameo as a buxom lady of the night – but as the old poker saying goes: you can only play the hand you’re dealt. And the hand given to them by director Mark Waters is poor. Sequels are seldom a good idea. Sequels coming 13 years after the original even less so. So if you’re looking for a dark alternative to the saccharine snow globes coming to a cinema near you, can I politely suggest you give Bad Santa 2 a wide berth. Not even Thornton’s hangdog face and trademark drawl can rescue this turkey.

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Photo courtesy of: Broad Green Pictures

Peter Callaghan
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