Avis Metacritic

As escapist comfort-food cinema goes, this is a stick-to-your-ribs, tryptophan-coma-size helping.

Think of Last Christmas as director Paul Feig’s Christmas album; it won’t be the first comedy anyone thinks about in his accomplished filmography, but viewers might find themselves reaching for it come December all the same.

While it won’t be remembered as one of the great Christmas films, Last Christmas delivers enough moments of heart and humour to keep the festive spirit alive.

Last Christmas isn't the assembly-line product it could have been, but nor is it as special as it seemingly intended to be.

Little about Last Christmas is that surprising, but as Hollywood continues to grapple with the idea that the rom-com still has legs and audiences are hungry for comfort food entertainment, it’s a welcome addition to a rebounding genre.

It's a misfire by just about any measure, but it earns some warm feelings for its determination not to be like anything else currently in circulation.

For all its flaws, Last Christmas isn’t a bad time, despite being a bad movie. Credit Clarke and Golding — or that rum-heavy egg nog you should drink before the opening credits.

It might look the part, with the director Paul Feig successfully capturing the glossy, tourist-friendly London one would crave from such a film, but the script feels like a rejected first draft with unfunny filler one-liners and a scrappy, ill-thought through narrative. It’s a beautifully wrapped Christmas gift that’s filled with rotten turkey leftovers.

As much as we go into Last Christmas eager to see a nicely wrapped package of acerbic fun, the film falls short of that. It’s not so much clever, toasty, and affectionate as it is the faux version of those things. It’s twee, it’s precious, it’s forced. And it’s light on true romance, maybe because the movie itself is a little too in love with itself.

A so-so Christmas romance undercut by some baffling choices, musically and narratively. A wasted opportunity.