Hamilton not only usurps the local help he uses, but the viewer's time as well. Set in New York, but obviously filmed (poorly) in Pittsburgh, Hamilton makes no attempt to create continuity or any interest in the characters themselves. The actors and actresses try hard, but can do little with lines like, "Joe, my kosher boyfriend" or "I love your little body, my angel."
Hamilton seems to be in love with not only seeing his own name on screen, but with his overly long script. He feels some strange, sick compulsion to show Mary's ENTIRE OB/GYN exam, a long high school dance (complete with adulterous principal hitting on students), and Mary throwing up in the bathroom at school. He also deems it necessary to show Joe gazing down at the Christ child with a bloody pocketknife in one hand and an umbilical cord (held like a piece of beef jerky)in the other.
This is not a Christmas film to show your children. It's not a Christmas story for your friends. Unless you have some urge to hear horribly bad eighties keyboard music dubbed shoddily over even worse dialogue and stiff acting, I would steer clear of this film. Do not plan to be entertained, amused or enlightened. Instead, plan on being stupified, not by wonder, but by boredom.
