ARTHUR CHRISTMAS Review: Another Generic Holiday Film
Arthur Christmas strains so much to be a postmodern Yuletide yarn that it forsakes the much-needed sprinkle of Christmas spirit and concedes too much of the Santa myth in the process.
rating: 2.5
Advertisement
Arthur Christmas is another awkward entry into the ongoing cinematic debate about Christmas film ethics; that is, whether it is acceptable to reveal the truth about Santa in a film aimed squarely at children still young and innocent enough to believe. Sarah Smith's film nearly gives the game away by crucially repositioning the Santa mythos we're all used to, and though like any similar film it has mostly good intentions, its disappointing honesty might make for a few awkward moments for parents of young kids. In this world, Santa (Jim Broadbent) is nearing retirement and courting one of his sons, the logical but emotionally cold Steve (Hugh Laurie) to succeed him. Meanwhile, the other son, Arthur (James McAvoy), is clumsy but hearty, and when one child is missed off Santa's list, he goes rogue to ensure her Christmas isn't ruined, much to the disdain of his brother. Films like The Santa Clause have managed to get away with some robust postmodern revision, but it's only because they keep the age-old myth of an immortal Santa alive. This film, however, surrenders that morsel, conceding that Santa has a lineage, changing face and regenerating, much like an iteration of Dr. Who. It doesn't totally give the game away thankfully, but the fact that it toys with people doubting Santa's existence nevertheless is somewhat tactless and more importantly, needless for a film clearly aimed at very young children who don't need the illusion tampered with. More distressing, however, is how there seems to be little intention to deviate from the formula we've been dealt dozens of times throughout the years. The film actually appears to be acutely aware of each and every holiday film trope, and then keenly chooses to adhere to them in a relatively saccharine, only very occasionally charming way. As a production from Aardman, more intelligence and more merriment is expected. The inevitable story obstacles, meanwhile, are signposted and lazy even for the relatively forgiving standards of a caper of this type, and Smith arrives at several logical end points which she brazenly avoids, even recycling a gag about an accidental excursion to Mexico which was only mildly amusing the first time around.