Die, Fat Man, Die!
There is a level of boredom that induces sleep. I've only experienced it at three public performances. The first was after a day of drinking bourbon on the lake with my fraternity brothers, we went to the local cinema for a showing of the Vietnam War movie Hamburger Hill. I don't think the movie was the problem. Rather, it was the amount of anesthesia in my system.
The second time, or actually the first as I now remember this predated Hamburger Hill by a couple of years. This girl took me to a 'Til Tuesday concert. Once they played that one song that I knew, I was out like a light. Plus, my date was kind of a bitch. So, I figured I could get a few minutes of sleep before having to have another tedious verbal exchange. Later that night, we ran into some a group of friends at the old nightclub Limelight. I traded my date to a friend of mine whose assholish overbearing personality was a perfect match for my date. In exchange, I got my roomate, who had a trunk full of beer and a bag of very potent hash. Twenty years later, I'm still convinced that was the best trade of my life.
Yesterday, I fell asleep in a movie. Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause put me to sleep sometime in the second act. When I awoke, a short time later, it was like I missed nothing. My step-sons mostly keep me from going to movies that I actually like. They have the worst taste in movies. Ever. I should have known this when the first movie I went to see with them was Cheaper by the Dozen 2. They have a penchant for shitty sequels and shitty remakes.
The funniest part, for them, was the farting reindeer gag. They laughed the hardest at that particular highlight. As far as they were concerned, they would be happy to watch a farting reindeer movie every day of the year. Other than that, they weren't that impressed.
For me, the gag reel at the end was the funniest (and most welcome) part of this Disney cash-in.
Rotten Tomatoes gave it a 13%.
Pajiba said, "If you’re unlucky enough to get stuck in a theater showing The Santa Clause 3, it is at this point that you basically have two options: 1) You can bang your head on the seat in front of you and hope it knocks you unconscious, or 2) you can start to fantasize that the Jigsaw Murderer from Saw III, playing in the theater next door, finds his way into the film, plants a bear trap in Tim Allen’s mouth, and gives him 90 seconds to lay waste to his nine reindeer before the trap separates his jaw in two, delivering the necessary one-liner: “There’s your Christmas cheer, asshole!”
I spent my awake time wondering why Mrs. Claus looks so much hotter on Lost, and dreaming about sneaking out without raising suspicion. Last thing I wanted was the wife yanking me by the hair out of the showing of Casino Royale next door.