Tag Archives: Brian Cox

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Santa Actually

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That Christmas

by Hope Madden

More than two decades ago, writer/director Richard Curtis made a very British Christmas film. It hasn’t aged particularly well, though many folks watch it year in, year out. Including, apparently, the inhabitants of Wellington-on-Sea.

Now, that may be because That Christmas—the new animated film set in the little port village—was co-written by Curtis. The Love Actually joke is a good bit in director Simon Otto’s holiday tale that’s a bit disjointed but never lacking in charm.

The film opens with Santa (Brian Cox—wait, really?) narrating the climax of one particularly problematic Christmas Eve night in the tiny community. The worries are larger than just this massive blizzard. But to do it all justice, Santa has to take us back a few days, to the school Christmas play.

One set of twins is split on the naughty and nice lists. One tween girl, left to care for her baby sister and three other children, breaks tradition but may also be negligent enough to allow tragedy to occur. And lonesome Danny (Jack Wisniewski) fears he will spend Christmas utterly alone.

Curtis, writing with Peter Souter, creates another crisscrossing of bittersweet, intimate, interconnected Christmas stories. And once again, Bill Nighy (this time voicing the character Lighthouse Bill) is underused.

The animation is delightful, the humor decidedly British, and the hijinks wholesome but relatable and often bittersweet. One bit about an under-appreciated single mum is not only beautifully tender but also quite welcome.

But none of it is particularly funny, or terribly fresh.

Five years ago, Netflix produced Klaus, a Christmas story that was stunning to look at and full of surprises. This year’s holiday offering is a charmer, and its understated humor and wry observations help to keep it engaging regardless of your age. But that’s not enough for That Christmas to transcend the glut of Christmas fare this year (and every year) to become an annual tradition.

New In Theaters

He Is Heavy, He’s My Grandpa

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Prisoner’s Daughter  

by Christie Robb

In Catherine Hardwicke’s newest film, the title character, Maxine (Kate Beckinsale), is struggling. She’s got two jobs, but still can’t afford the epilepsy medicine her son Ezra (Christopher Convery) needs. The kid’s dad is no help. He’s a drug-addicted man-child squatting in what looks like an abandoned factory, showing up only to cause trouble and get Maxine fired by one of her managers.

So, when her prisoner father, Max (Brian Cox), is diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer and offered compassionate release and house arrest for his last four months if his estranged daughter is up for it, Maxine agrees – but only if he pays rent promptly, stays out of the way, and keeps his exact relationship to her quiet around her kid. Ezra thinks his grandfather died before he was born, and Maxine doesn’t want her ruse upended.

Although Max, a former boxer turned enforcer/probable hit man, was a shit dad whose presence and absence from Maxine’s life during her childhood left her with many emotional scars, we are given to understand that he’s changed in the last 12 years, gotten sober, and been an asset to those prisoners trying to do the same. And, now that he’s back in his daughter’s life, he’s out to make some serious amends.

Much of the film is a thinly-written fairytale—the rekindling of a healthy relationship within an estranged family with minimal effort and no therapy required. Apologies are freely offered. Money is exchanged without strings. But strings are pulled to put Maxine’s career back on track. Whimsical adventures are had. And grandpa bonds with grandson, passing down valuable life lessons to help him navigate tough stuff that mom just doesn’t understand.

See, Ezra is being bullied at school. So, Max, the former boxer, is more than ready to step up and teach him to fight. The last act is interesting. but sometimes as heavy-handed as Max’s fists. And it makes you wonder what kind of legacy Max has passed on to the next generation and whether it’s really that easy to change oneself, much less stop the cycle of generational trauma.