“I thought it was Christmas, not Halloween!”

Drake’s rating: It’s the terriblest

Drake’s review: So I can now say that I’ve seen Santa with Muscles. That was not a thing I could have said two days ago. It was a better time, then. A more innocent time. I reflect sadly on what I’ve lost in the interim. Brain cells, certainly. A bit of sanity (And you all know the kinds of movies I indulge in. I have none to spare). The will to live.

A friend of my wife’s asked if the title meant mussels, as in the bivalve mollusk served at seafood dining establishments the world over. And by the way, did you know mussels gained popularity in the United States during World War II, when there were strict rationing policies in place around beef and pork? And that in Turkey they’re often served cold and filled with rice? Did you know that I’d really rather be talking about mussels, and if the universe were in any way a fair and decent place I would indeed be touting the merits of a film titled Santa with Mussels and would in addition be living a happy and mentally healthy life. Maybe in Belgium.

But sadly, lamentably, that’s not the universe we live in. The one we inhabit, dear reader, is a cold, dark, pitiless place that has seemingly formed a personal grudge against me and, seeing that I’ve yet to melt into a puddle of primordial ooze despite the best (worst) efforts of filmmakers such as Andy Sidaris and Arch Hall, Sr., has unleashed an assault upon my person that amounts to a veritable cinematic blitzkrieg.

And that blitzkrieg, my friends, is Santa with Muscles.

Granted, I do share a bit of the blame here. A tiny bit. A smidgen, perhaps. Because I did see the credits, and I did see the name Hulk Hogan, and I did not immediately turn off the television, unplug it from the wall and leave it outside for the morning trash pick up. Which, in hindsight, would have been the wisest course of action. Instead, struck numb by the fact that Hulk Hogan had not faded away at the end of the 1980s like leg warmers and Men at Work, but had instead embarked on a film career on screens large and small, I let the movie play.

Right. That was a mistake. I freely admit it. Still, one minuscule error in judgment should not be the grounds for witnessing the cinematic abomination on display here. Justin’s review covers it impeccably, but to recap: Hulk Hogan is a rich idiot who gets bonked on the head and tricked into thinking he’s Santa Claus by a mall elf and then saves an orphanage from the evil machinations of Ed Begley, Jr. and his wayward band of cartoon villains. That’s pretty much it.

Now I’ll admit that I’m likely a more vengeful sort than Justin, and so rather than let the movie harmlessly lie in the back of my subconscious and go on with my life as if it hadn’t been so rudely interrupted by this holiday horror, I looked for someone to blame. Someone I could vent my mental ire upon in a desire for karmic vengeance.

Looking through the cast list, I rejected name after name. Hulk Hogan? No. He was terrible in this, certainly, but he’s generally a terrible actor. Can’t blame the man for collecting a paycheck without having to have his body thrown around a wrestling ring like a 300 pound sack of potatoes. Garret Morris? Nope, not gonna do it. He was a unique talent in his Saturday Night Live days and he deserved better than this film. Robin Curtis? Honestly, I didn’t even recognize her without the pointy ears.

But then I saw the name that made this all make sense. And that name was Jordan Belfort. Yes, that Jordan Belfort. The “Wolf of Wall Street” himself. Not content to merely push penny stocks and defraud unwitting investors, Belfort turned his attention to the movies and executive produced a handful of terrible films in the mid-90s, and there is no doubt in my mind that Santa with Muscles was the terriblest.

No, I know that’s not a real word. I’m going to use it anyway, because this movie deserves it. It is truly the terriblest.

So let it be known, Jordan Belfort, that you’re on my eternal naughty list. I can only hope that your holiday stockings are packed with nothing but Santa with Muscles DVDs, an eternal reminder that your financial shenanigans may be in your past, but your motion picture misadventures can never be forgiven.

Justin’s rating: It’s like when a candy cane breaks into dozens of pieces before you can get it out of the wrapper.

Justin’s review: C’mon, you knew that sooner or later we had to get Santa with Muscles on this site! It’s one of those iconic bad Christmas movies that everyone seems to know about but nobody seems to have seen it. So I did. I seen it. I seen it real good. And now I’m going to have to go float in a bathtub of eggnog until my sense of reality returns.

So far, having seen part of Hulk Hogan’s acting library, including Mr. Nanny and Suburban Commando, I feel quite comfortable in saying that the man is completely lost trying to land a joke, show realistic emotion, or use normal body language. I don’t expect a lot out of fake wrestlers-turned-actors, but my standards are a little higher than what I’m getting here. Yet despite never starring in a hit movie, Hogan kept plugging away at the job until he hit rock bottom with Santa with Muscles.

Let’s take a look at it. Hogan plays a rich dude who spends his days beating up his staff for practice (?) and playing a lot of paintball. After fleeing from cops for no good reason whatsoever, he hides out in a mall, dresses up as a mall Santa, and then conks his head in a garbage chute. Naturally, at the bottom of said chute is a mall elf who needs cash and figures than an amnesiac Santa is a perfect mark. The elf tells Hogan that he’s Santa. Hogan is cool with this. Then Hogan beats up some guys trying to rob a charity right in the middle of the mall court. It’s clear we’re going great places with this storyline.

The actual conflict comes from a sinister dude — who I assume is also rich, considering his mansion and servants — played by Ed Begley Jr. I never really liked Begley Jr much to start with, and every performance I’ve seen him in has lowered my estimation of the man.

Anyway, Bagels Jr hires a bunch of evil scientists (who have various powers such as “electric hands” and “stethoscope”) to help him with a plan to dig up magical crystals residing underneath the smallest church orphanage you’ll ever see. I think they had perhaps four kids, one of whom is Mila Kunis. But Santa says ho-ho-no way to this, becoming the unlikely defender of the weak in the middle of the brightest California Christmas you’ll ever see on film.

Listen, I’m not one for picking well-known terrible films and then outright berating them for being terrible. Well, I am, but I try to be fair about it. What makes Santa with Muscles grating isn’t the premise here. The premise is actually workable; who wouldn’t want to see Santa beat up bad guys? That’s got some potential.

The issue is that the filmmakers took the dial labeled ’90S ZANY and turned it as far as it could go. This means that while the movie is full of wall-to-wall comedy, it’s not the actual kind of comedy that anyone laughs at. It’s off-brand “komedy” where everyone mugs the camera to the fullest extent of the law, where every joke is telegraphed from a mile away, and where Ed Begley Jr hires thematic evil scientists to prance around.

The poster child for everything wrong in this movie is the mall elf (Don Stark), who spends the bulk of the runtime following Santa around trying to rob him. You know, rob him more. This elf never stops talking and overacting, and it won’t be long before you wish Santa would use his muscles on him. Preferably on his head, repeatedly.

With that kind of comedy at work in Santa with Muscles, watching this without any strong medication or snarky robots is so unbearably tedious. There are moments, small moments, where I was distracted by oddities such as seeing Star Trek III’s Robin Curtis in something other than Star Trek III. But it just wasn’t enough, and so I ended up with a stocking full of coal for all of my patience.

Intermission!

• I haven’t seen this little girl yet, but her narration is already so annoying that I hope she gets every grinch that’s coming to her.
• They steal the orphanage’s Christmas tree?
• All cooks should be ready to attack home invaders with meat tenderizers
• This guy’s got 386 rules
• Cops love it when you shoot paintballs at their cars during high speed pursuits
• Pink headrags and tan camoflauge is interesting paintball attire
• These are the most ’90s bad guys ever, which is to say, goofy and not threatening in the least
• RANDOM ACT OF VIOLENCE AGAINST A FLOWER
• “Santa fraud”
• The way the elf freaks out when he robs Santa
• “Am I a sheep? Am I a bunny?”
• The kid’s face when Santa comes in without a beard
• “I love to eat a lot of reindeer meat.”
• ATMs are very particular about which thumbprint you use?
• That’s the worst song ever, kid
• The one scientist acts like a goblin
• Yeah, the kids use the church CATACOMBS as a club house.
• Also, what California church has catacombs?
• Or, for that matter, a church in North America?
• Sure, this cave is full of exploding crystals
• What’s with the steam pipes in the lawn?
• Yet the crystals don’t explode when you’re slamming them against each other
• And you thought Jingle All the Way was bad. Wait, you did think it was bad, didn’t you?
• Clint Howard? Clint Howard.
• There’s a precocious little girl. I am in hell.
• There’s a tunnel and some magic crystals and this is so bad. SO BAD.