Late Review: Four Christmases

Photo: John P. Johnson/Warner Brothers Pictures

Before Robert Wilonsky's late review for the new Reese Witherspoon-Vince Vaughn holiday comedy, which opened this Wednesday, we should mention this local connection to the film. First-time feature director Seth Gordon, who scored a hit with the documentary The King of Kong (about Redmond video gamer Steve Wiebe) was raised mostly here in Seattle, where he attended Roosevelt and Lakeside before going off to college at Yale. Now, Four Christmases is obviously a work-for-hire, a studio-conceived star vehicle with six writers (Gordon not among them), and before you read our review, let's sample that from The New York Times' A.O. Scott, who wrote that "the picture, briskly directed by Seth Gordon from a snappy, many-authored script, is refreshingly tart and lean, forgoing the usual schmaltz and syrup."

But here's Wilonsky's take:

Four Christmases
Opens Weds., Nov. 26 at Metro and other theaters. Rated PG-13. 82 minutes.
To brand, then dismiss, this seasonal allergen as a disappointment would be giving it too much credit--never, for a second, did this New Line Cinema castoff scream or even whisper decent in the run-up to its opening. The story of couple Kate (Reese Witherspoon) and Brad (Vince Vaughn)--not married, might as well be--who, fogged in on December 25, put their planned Fiji frolic on hold to visit their four divorced parents in the course of a single day, the movie doesn't offer a single surprise within its scant 82 minutes, which feel like at least twice that. There's happiness and cheer and more than the occasional tear dropped between shouting matches and withering stares, all pre-assembled and gift-wrapped by the ho-ho-hos at The Studio. There was every reason to hope for more. Four Christmases was directed by Seth Gordon, whose 2007 The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters was a bittersweet, hilarious documentary in which a cocky mullet squares off against a sweet doofus over a Donkey Kong machine. And Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon, seemed as sure a thing as pancakes and bacon on Christmas morning. But even there, the pairing's off: He's too much, she's too little. The movie's pace is lethargic; it desperately needs a laugh track. Only, the joke's terrible to begin with. Still, not as bad as Vaughn's last movie: Fred Claus, last year's holiday lump of coal. ROBERT WILONSKY