On Nov. 11, 1994, Buena Vista unveiled the Tim Allen holiday starrer The Santa Clause in theaters, where it would go on to gross $144 million globally, launch two theatrical sequels and then a Disney+ spinoff series. The Hollywood Reporter’s original review is below:
Ironically, the most John Hughes-ish holiday movie is Hughes’ chief Christmas competitor, Buena Vista’s The Santa Clause. With an irreverent impudence, generous sprinkles of slap stick and traditional wrapping, this breezy presentation should tickle the funny bones of grade school kids as well as us older coots who enjoy Tim Allen’s acerbic antics. You don’t have to read the fine print in this Clause, only its broad strokes — it has family hit written all over it.
In this single-parent age, parttime dad Scott Calvin (Allen) is no Mrs. Doubtfire: A self-absorbed careerist, he has no overriding yearning to be with his young son Charlie (Eric Lloyd). Legally prescribed father-son meetings are a drudge at best, until one not-so-fine Christmas Eve when Santa tumbles from his roof and Scott is transformed into the jolly man himself, owing to the “Santa Clause”: Whoever dons the Santa suit (which Scott does) is contractually bound to Santa servitude.
Delivering presents and spreading good cheer is not selfish Scott’s idea of a high calling, although the prospect of working only one day a year has its enticements.
Bedecking the old fish-out-of-water story formula in holiday garb and tinseling it with some apt moral messages for this dysfunctional age, screenwriters Leo Benvenuti and Steve Rudnick have concocted a satisfyingly new-fangled Christmas yarn. With such dialogue as “Seeing is not believing, believing is seeing,” it trumpets, beneath its slapstick dash, a neo-traditional sounding for the strength of family and the transcendent powers of faith. (Thematically, could Hollywood finally be catching up with the rest of the country?)
Tonally, Santa Clause is somewhat conflicted, clanking between its anti-establishment asides and archedly old-fashioned reach but, in general, it’s a skilled and mirthful blend of humor and heart. Despite some static cling and lurchy pacing, director John Pasquin’s guidance is generally good in this undeniably tricky balancing act.
Allen’s combo of flip insincerity and kindly concern is a terrific treat, recalling Bill Murray at his doofy best. Lloyd is appealingly sympathetic as his sharp son, while Judge Reinhold once again is a superb straight man, as a noodly, overly rational shrink with a weakness for pretentious sweaters.
Technically, the tappings and trimmings are fine: The Santa Clause is highlighted by costume designer Carol Ramsey’s apt blend of dorky clothing and high-holiday garb. — Duane Byrge, originally published on Nov. 11, 1994.
