Where is the Entertainment Weekly cover story on “The Year of the Wee Folk”? Three instances of anything = a trend, right? And it’s a veritable golden age for the vertically challenged. Peter Dinklage has been racking up accolades for The Station Agent, anyone who’s still watching HBO’s Carnivale credits Michael J. Anderson (David Lynch’s favorite little person) for their continued interest, and now there’s Bad Santa, featuring Tony Cox as his bad elf.

I don’t really understand how Bad Santa came to be produced by the Coen brothers and directed by Terry Zwigoff. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation – a file stuffed with compromising photographs in Harvey Weinstein’s desk, perhaps – but I just haven’t heard it yet. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the movie. I did, for the first hour or so. It’s gleefully profane and cynical, and highly recommended as the capper to a bloodcurdling day of Christmas shopping at the mall. Unfortunately, just when you start to worry it will go all gooey at the center and sell out at the end, it does.

Billy Bob Thornton is Willie, the Bad Santa, a safecracker and drunk who works once a year, when his partner Marcus (the little guy) calls him with their latest department store gig. The Santa routine is just a cover to allow them time to case the joint, find out where the safe is, clean it out and hightail it to Florida until next year.

Things are different this year, as Willie befriends a young boy and learns the true meaning of Christmas. Actually, the befriending doesn’t happen at first. It’s preceded by a great deal of using, berating, and all-around loathing. The kid, played by Brett Kelly, is a true marvel. As a character, he makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. He’s a sweet-natured, completely unflappable fat kid, and most of the time it seems as though he must be at least mildly brain-damaged. But he can read pretty well and only manages to cut his hand once while carving a wooden pickle to give Willie for Christmas. He takes so much abuse throughout the movie we should be cringing under our seats, but the kid is utterly unfazed – call him a fucking idiot and he’ll offer to make you a sammich.

If you don’t find something inherently funny about a badly-behaved department store Santa, you should probably give this one a pass. Disney executives apparently wish they had – a recent screening on the studio lot left the suits shaking their heads in despair. How could the Mouse House do this to Santa? But as some other wise blogger pointed out: a) he’s not the real Santa; and b) there is no real Santa.

The movie also features John Ritter’s final performance, as the befuddled department store manager. At one point, Ritter’s character ponders whether “midget” or “dwarf” is the preferred nomenclature. As in all things, we at Moonshine Mountain defer to The Office:

David: "Look whether or not Anton is indeed a midget, or a dwarf-"
Alex: "No he’s a midget."
David: "What’s the difference?"
Alex: "A dwarf is someone who has disproportionately short arms and legs."
David: "Oh I know the ones."
Alex: "It’s caused by a hormone deficiency."
David: "Yeah… bloody hormones."
Alex: "A midget is still a dwarf but their arms and legs are in proportion."
Gareth: "So... what’s an elf?"