All I want for Christmas is a cynical, synthetic piece of Hollywood production line tat, which reheats the narrative leftovers of an already mediocre domestic comedy about blended families. Perhaps while you’re at it, Santa, you could arrange for a cast of petulant men-children to take centre stage and behave like insufferable brats. And the fake snow frosting on the whole sorry mess would be if you could ensure that the female characters are so wooden and underwritten that you might as well have stuck some tits and tinsel on a Christmas tree and jiggled it around in the background every so often. Oh, and why don’t you cast Mel Gibson? He knows about goodwill to all men, just as long as they aren’t, you know, women or anything. Naughty list all round.
