Dear Santa

The difference between a "t" and an "n" has never carried higher stakes than it does for Liam Turner. Most kids worry about getting a lump of coal; Liam accidentally invites the Prince of Darkness into his living room for cookies and a soul-binding contract. It’s the kind of high-concept pitch that feels like it was unearthed from a 1994 time capsule, yet here it is, landing on Paramount+ in an era where we desperately need a break from the "prestige" gloom of modern cinema.

I watched this while huddled next to a radiator that was making a sound like a dying walrus, which, oddly enough, provided a perfect low-fidelity soundtrack to a movie that feels like a cozy, slightly greasy hug. Bobby Farrelly, stepping into the director’s chair without his brother Peter Farrelly (who produced and co-wrote), brings back that specific brand of "sweetly offensive" humor that defined their reign over the late 90s. It’s a bit more polished now—streaming budgets do that to you—but the DNA of Dumb and Dumber is still pulsing under the surface.

The Devil Wears... Everything

The success of Dear Santa begins and ends with Jack Black. At this point in his career, he has transcended "acting" to become a genre unto himself. As Satan, he’s not the terrifying beast from The Exorcist; he’s more like an aging rock star who’s just thrilled someone finally noticed his fan mail. He arrives in a flurry of fire and leather, sporting a look that suggests he raided a Spirit Halloween store with a black-and-gold corporate credit card.

Jack Black leans into the absurdity with every fiber of his being. He treats the 6th grader Liam (Robert Timothy Smith) less like a victim and more like a long-lost roadie. Seeing Satan experience "normal" human joys—like a mall food court or a suburban Christmas display—is where the film finds its rhythm. It’s physical comedy that doesn’t require a PhD to enjoy, relying on Black’s elastic facial expressions and his uncanny ability to make "evil" feel incredibly cuddly.

The supporting cast holds their own against the heavy metal energy of the lead. Keegan-Michael Key shows up as Dr. Finkleman, a character who seems to exist purely to remind us that Key can make literally any line of dialogue funny through sheer force of timing. The chemistry between the Turner family—Brianne Howey and Hayes MacArthur—is grounded enough to keep the movie from floating off into pure cartoon territory, providing the "heart" that the Farrelly brothers have always been surprisingly good at sneaking into their movies.

A Mid-Tier Miracle

In the current streaming landscape, we’re often trapped between $200 million franchise behemoths and micro-budget indies. Dear Santa occupies that disappearing "middle" space. It’s a movie designed to be watched on a Tuesday night in December while you’re wrapping presents. The cinematography by C. Kim Miles is bright and festive, making the most of the Atlanta locations disguised as a snowy Northeastern town. It doesn't push any technological boundaries—no de-aging or "The Volume" here—and that’s a relief. It looks like a movie, not a tech demo.

The script by Ricky Blitt and Peter Farrelly manages to navigate the "dyslexia" plot point without it feeling like a cheap punchline. Instead, it’s the catalyst for a weirdly wholesome story about being careful what you wish for. "It’s basically a 90-minute SNL sketch that actually remembers to have a third act," and that’s a compliment in a year where so many comedies feel like they’re running out of steam by the 40-minute mark.

Is it a "new classic" that will replace Elf in your yearly rotation? Probably not. But it engages with the modern moment by refusing to be cynical. In an era of political polarization and social media exhaustion, there’s something genuinely refreshing about a movie where the biggest problem is a demon who really wants to go to a rock concert.

Stuff You Didn't Notice

Interestingly, this marks a significant solo directorial outing for Bobby Farrelly, who has mostly worked alongside his brother on hits like Shallow Hal and Kingpin. While Peter Farrelly has spent recent years chasing Oscars with Green Book, Bobby seems content to stay in the trenches of character-driven comedy.

Turns out, the production had to deal with the typical "Christmas in Georgia" struggle—using mountains of fake snow and trying to keep the actors from sweating through their winter coats in 80-degree heat. You can almost see the glisten on Jack Black’s forehead in the outdoor scenes, but honestly, for Satan, it just looks like he’s thriving. Also, keep an eye out for P.J. Byrne, who pops up as Mr. Charles; he’s a Farrelly regular who always adds a layer of delightful anxiety to his scenes.

Ultimately, Dear Santa is a charming distraction that succeeds because it knows exactly what it is. It’s a vehicle for Jack Black to be the most "Jack Black" version of himself, wrapped in a festive bow of 90s-style slapstick. It’s not trying to redefine the genre or make a grand statement about the human condition. It just wants to make you laugh at the idea of the Devil trying to understand how a "Buy One, Get One Free" sale works, and on that front, it’s a total success.