Poor Mariette Hartley is given a completely one dimensional role to play here, a hag of a snooty domineering mother, to the future wife (Crystal Bernard) of the future Santa Claus (Steve Guttenberg), being trained by his aging parents for the job that lies ahead. Toss in a pretentious, scheming ex-boyfriend (Roark Critchlow), and you have a TV movie with characters completely ollow or absolutely perfect, absolutely no shadowing, and it becomes rather tedious from nearly the beginning. Hartley is directed to speak in an absolutely unbelievable snooty accent, doing a poor imitation of the type of roles that Christine Baranski or Blythe Danner have perfected, that in another era Dina Merrill could play in her sleep. Hartley instantly grates on the nerve, and after a while, she is absolutely painful to watch.

The music is overly forceful, giving the plot a sledgehammer effect that becomes manipulative very quickly, and whatever charm there is in the innocence of the holiday spirit is overshadowed by all of the negative aspects. Armin Shimerman, as Guttenberg's right hand man, is supposed to be a light comic relief but adds absolutely none. Then there's the obvious commercialism within the script that takes away any potential Christmas magic in what could have been a fairly charming distraction, certainly no classic in any way, but diluted in modern ideals which means there really are none. Guttenberg and Bernard offer what little charm the film has as do the actors playing Guttenberg's parents, the real Santa and Mrs. Claus. The standout however is Julie Ariola as Hartley's bubbly maid. The real problem is a very trite script and weak direction, predictability and mainly in majority of characters that I had a hard time caring about.