boyleboy’s review published on Letterboxd:
My holiday season starts here. Plot-wise, Bad Santa is pretty shit. There's a lot of narrative flab and needless digressions for the sake of making a joke or two, and the resolution at the end is tacked on and clumsily handled. But it doesn't matter. The script is foul-mouthed, piss-soaked genius, and the performances - near enough all of them - are flawless. It's a beautiful tribute to John Ritter, who died shortly before the film was released - every lemon-sucking grimace he delivered had me in stitches. There's a sequel on the way, about which I'm ambivalent. For now, I'm happy with this: 'I've always had a thing for Santas... must be some deep-seated childhood thing.' 'Yeah, that's like my thing for tits.'