Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Santa Baby 2: Christmas Maybe

And now we present our annual World O' Crap Christmas Movie Review.


Santa Baby 2: Christmas Maybe (2009)
Director: Ron Underwood
Writers: Garrett Frawley, Brian Turne

Former Playboy Playmate and current vacuum-skulled anti-vaccination crusader Jenny McCarthy is “Mary Class,” who I assume is a successful businesswoman, because she has all the earmarks of a Made For TV career: a perky gay assistant who shows up in her kitchen at dawn to make her pick typefaces for fake products, sudden bouts of business-savvy inspiration (“Helvetica!”) and an obvious need to learn the true meaning of Christmas sometime in the next 95 minutes.  She also has a scruffy but handsome boyfriend, Luke, who she’s too busy to kiss goodbye, because one of her competitors might steal a march on her by getting to the office first and suggesting Bordeaux Roman Bold, or even Gloucester MT Extra Condensed.

But Luke has his own problems.  One, he’s a mailman who loves the holidays, which suggests he’s struggling with mental illness, and two, the residents of Manhattan constantly fail to meet his exacting standards of festivity.  When he pushes his little U.S. Postal stroller into a crowd of New Yorkers waiting for the light to change and chirps, “Merry Christmas!”, he is baffled and crestfallen when they ignore him and just cross the damn street; then a short time later, a young woman whose mail he apparently steams open isn’t nearly as excited about her Christmas cards as he is, suggesting that one day soon, he’s going to snap and make them all pay. But it’s an ABC Family movie, so I’m probably getting my hopes up for nothing.

Jenny is hosting a Christmas party for her clients, and scheming to merge with a firm owned by a man we’re supposed to believe is British, because his name is “Colin Nottingham,” he’s played by an actor who sounds like he was Kevin Costner’s dialect coach on Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves, and he shoehorns the word “London” into the conversation whenever he can.  (“London! Nice wide chimneys,” Jenny says in a weirdly sexual tone that makes me think this is how the Dick Van Dyke character from Mary Poppins would have talked if he'd been played by Sir Mix-A-Lot.)

Luke shows up and embarrasses Jenny by telling Colin of Nottingham that he’s a mailman, and the owner of a small dogsledding business (which sounds like a moronic venture for someone based in New York City, but after the Blizzard of ’87, I would have happily paid the Iditarod a hefty tip to deliver my damn Chinese take out).

Jenny’s party goes fake tits-up when she discovers her dad, Santa, wearing Ray-Bans and slapping a stand-up bass in the band.  She asks why he’s not at the North Pole getting ready for Christmas, while he demands to know why she's not at the North Pole, since he turned over the family business to her so he could at last be free to pursue his dream of playing jazzy versions of “Jingle Bells” and smoking a post-gig doob while getting a hummer from a chubby-chasing groupie.  And just to make Jenny seem less grating by comparison, we get to meet Santa’s band manager, Skip the Elf, who sounds like a Bee Gee being strangled to death in a helium-filled zeppelin.

Luke takes Kris Kringle to the Paramus Mall, where he gets in a fistfight with a department store Santa, and winds up in jail, teaching shiv-wielding cholos to sing a close harmony version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”  Santa is on the verge of being recruited into the Aryan Nation and getting his first teardrop tattoo when Jenny shows up to bail him out and haul his ass up to the North Pole, which has no extradition treaty with the U.S.

Luke, who is originally from the North Pole, and has known Jenny since they were kids, just wants to get her into his cabin and make the roast beast with two backs.  But Jenny is afraid that the elves have been unsupervised too long while Santa was banging hippie chicks with back stage passes, and she needs to focus on crushing their urge to unionize.

The pert young Teri, who replaced Luke as North Pole mailman, is pulling an Eve Harrington, flirting with Jenny's boyfriend and undermining her authority with all the elves.  Meanwhile, Santa has bought a black leather jacket and a snowmobile and is riding around pretending he’s in Sons of Anarchy.  So if you’re a kid, I’d advise you to spend less time hoping for that toy you requested and more time trying to figure out your Dad’s computer password, since online porn is mostly free, and largely unaffected by Santa’s midlife crisis.

Jenny tries to hold a staff meeting with the toy-making department heads, but they all get distracted by Teri’s cookies and can’t concentrate on Jenny’s PowerPoint presentation.  Since the attendees were all inoculated against diphtheria in 1907, this meeting only confirms Jenny’s belief that vaccinations cause retardation in elves.

Teri puts on one of those Peruvian knitted Alpaca caps in an effort to impersonate the lead singer of the Spin Doctors, then seduces Skip with peanut butter cookies and implied poontang.  She acts as an agent provocateur, fomenting labor unrest; under her influence, the elves issue a scroll full of demands, then picket the toy shop, demanding Jenny’s ouster (borrowing the hippies’ “Hey hey, ho ho, LBJ has got to go!” chant).  Responding in kind, Jenny calls out the National Guard and suddenly there’s four dead in O-Ho-Ho.

Meanwhile, Teri seductively makes baked goods with Luke, which leads to a rather raunchy climax when he uses a syringe to inject her profiterole with his warm creamy filling.

Jenny takes the hint and goes back to New York, before the North Pole police find the mass graves full of elves with their skulls caved in by axe handle-wielding Pinkertons.  Teri declares the general strike over, and appoints herself the supreme executive of the elves’ anarcho-syndicalist collective, so Christmas is back on!  Great!  Movie’s over right?

No, we cut to Jenny’s apartment in New York, where she’s trying to cheer herself up by listening to a generic version of “Santa Baby” and sipping a mug full of the piping hot tears of her abused employees.  Colin of Nottingham arrives with a bottle of champagne and a seductive gleam in his eye, but before they can boink he makes her sign some "merger papers," which really makes me glad I left the dating scene behind in the 90s, because fucking has gotten way too complicated.

Back at the North Pole, Santa resumes control of Christmas, which causes Teri to wig out and creepily sing under her breath, “We wish you a Teri Christmas...!”  Okay, so it’s her who’s going to snap and go on a killing spree.  That’s fine, I’m not picky, as long as someone starts killing these people.

Jenny watches some old home movies from when she was a child, and notices Teri in the background.  She immediately rushes home, where Teri, now strutting around in jackboots, a form-fitting red suit, and a riding crop, has turned into Ilsa, She-Wolf of Santa’s Village.  Jenny yanks off Teri’s wig, revealing her to be...an elf!  Everyone gasps, so apparently it’s supposed to be a huge shock, like that Jewish kid who pretended to be a Nazi in Europa Europa.

Teri steals Santa’s sleigh and holds the toys hostage, and I guess we’re supposed to care that rich kids named Persimmon or Anaphylactic won’t get their useless battery-operated crap this year.  But it turns out Skip, the helium-voiced Bee Gee is hot for her, so she’s redeemed.  But it’s too late for Santa alone to deliver all the toys, so Jenny steps up and offers to split the world.  Santa delivers toys to all the Christian children, while Jenny delivers smallpox and polio to everyone else, just to prove that vaccines are bullshit.

The End.

From me, Mary, Moondoggie, and Riley...
Merry Christmas...or else!

15 comments:

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

Bravo!

God Bless Polio, everybody!
~

Chris Vosburg said...

Oh, very good, Scott. Merry Smallpox, everybody!

The Hallmark channel continues its war on Christmas with "The Thanksgiving House" (?), "Santa Switch," "Hats off to Christmas," "Catch a Christmas Star," "The Christmas Spirit," "Finding Christmas," "Fir Crazy," etc. and on and on, they've been running wet for for Christmas since July.

The other Hallmark channel is currently running footage of a merrily burning Yule log, which actually gives off a fair amount of heat-- oh wait, I guess that's my big ass plasma flat screen.

Chris Vosburg said...

The burning log footage is accompanied by various somewhat Christmas themed music, currently "I'm Lit Up Like a Christmas Tree," a celebration of either alcoholism or Christmas, I can't tell which.

acrannymint said...

The one and only burning log - for all you NYC dwellers in the 70's

acrannymint said...

and Merry Christmas

KWillow said...

Merry Christmas Scott, Mary and Kitties!

(OMG did you notice the JAW on that woman? Nutcrackers sigh in envy when she walks by.)

Dr.BDH said...

Merry Cripples and to all, a Glomerulonephritis!

Weird Dave said...

So what happened to Santa Baby I?

Wait. Maybe I don't want to know.

Happy Happy All.

Scott said...

As I understand it, in Santa Baby I, Jenny reluctantly saves Christmas after Santa gets sick (she convinced him not to get a flu shot, because it's all a big scam), but it's not available on Netflix Streaming, so I was forced to join the Santa Baby Saga already in progress.

preznit said...

there are worse things Scott. not quite sure, but I think they involve Cthulu and a steaming bowl of sauerkraut ;}

Stacia said...

Pfft. Like that vacuous bitch would even know what to do with Gloucester MT Extra Condensed.

Happy Holidays Scott, Mary, beasts and everyone else within shoutin' distance!

P.S. My gift to you, imported directly from 1996: A Spin Doctors smiley *<:)

grouchomarxist said...

The last time I saw a jaw like that, it had thirty pounds of snapping turtle behind it. (shudder)

I trust you and your fur-bearing overlords had a merry one at House o' Crap. Best wishes for the new year to one and all!

heydave said...

Late to the party, but happy holidaze, kids!

Weird Dave said...

I mentioned this post to Jill and she told me that Luke was (in real life) married to Tori Spelling.

I really don't want to know how she knew that.

Scott said...

Dave, I only discovered this factoid yesterday when I saw the two of them on the cover of some celeb-sniffing magazine at the supermarket checkout stand.

He does seem to have a thing for surgically altered, plasticky blondes.