Elf (2003)
Directed by Jon Favreau
Written by David Berenbaum

As Christmas movies go, Elf is better than average, but it's nowhere near the holiday classic it tries hard to be. Had it been as pandering as The Santa Clause or as gimmicky as How the Grinch Stole Christmas, it would be easy enough to simply dismiss it as a lame-oid kids' film. But it aims for A Christmas Story, and mostly fails.

Will Ferrell is extremely funny as Buddy, a human raised by elves at the North Pole, who journeys to New York City in search of his real father (James Caan, continuing a steady decline into creepy unpleasantness). Bob Newhart is also good as Ferrell's adoptive father, showing his usual class and subtlety despite his role amounting to little more than very inspired stunt-casting.

Jon Favreau, who wrote Swingers, directs this capably, though he doesn't succeed at balancing the pure kid-movie "hilarity" with the warmth and thoughtfulness adults look for in this kind of film … for every surprising or quirky bit, there are at least two that are contrived or clichéd. And frankly, it's disappointing to see that he's not gotten over the whole "lounge" thing, as the soundtrack is packed with Christmas Cocktails-type tunes.

Then again, maybe that whole aesthetic has finally trickled so far down the mainstream that it's entirely appropriate for Elf. Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that Favreau felt he was doing something really hip with this movie, so it came across to me as overly smug.

And it's never a good thing to have Mary Steenburgen around.

Some of the set pieces provide the perfect outlet for Ferrell's wonderfully self-degrading schtick, and he plays it with an unwinking, unflagging optimism that helps to keep things real. But as the story careens toward its supposed payoff, the contrivances pile on to the point of absolute nonsense.

Ed Asner as Santa … I guess I have to agree with that. And Zooey Deschanel makes the most of her horseshit stock-love-interest role. And including an animated Leon Redbone snowman in clear homage to the Burl Ives of old is an immensely inspired bit, both funny and very, very smart.

Ultimately, though, it all falls in line with far too much of pop culture these days – the work of aging hipsters who still haven't quite learned when to admit they're full-on responsible grown-ups. You can't have it both ways. Either start making beautiful art already, or shut the hell up.

Review by Phil Dominoe