Suicidal loser Willie (Billy Bob Thornton) is lured into another heist by his pint-size frenemy Marcus (Tony Cox): Their new target is a Christmastime charity in Chicago run by Diane (Christina Hendricks), which requires them to don the Santa and Elf suits again in order to fit in with the fundraising efforts before making off with a safe full of donation money. The duo are joined by Willie's estranged mother, the expectedly foulmouthed scammer Sunny (Kathy Bates), who's already laid the groundwork for the robbery. Willie protests because of his hatred and distrust of his mom, but agrees to move forward on the plan regardless.
The eminently horny Willie soon takes a liking to the married Diane, who, conveniently, is a recovering alcoholic and secret nymphomaniac. Meanwhile, the now-21-year-old, mentally challenged Thurman Merman (Brett Kelly) still idolizes Willie, and follows him to Chicago in the hope of celebrating Christmas with the booze-swilling lout. Double crosses and forced sentimentality ensue as this impotent sequel trudges to its finale.
The original, 2003 cult classic was a lude, crude, and unapologetic send-up of the holiday spirit, as well as a harbinger of the trend of misanthropic comedy that would unfold over the following decade-plus. Unfortunately, director Terry Zwigoff and screenwriters Glenn Ficarra and John Requa are notably absent from the Second Coming after their work on the first film; they've been replaced with director Mark Waters (Mean Girls) and the writing team of Johnny Rosenthal and Shauna Cross, who have essentially remade the original in their own unfunny image.
Thornton skates by here, looking the part of a disheveled lowlife but barely making an effort to entertain -- he knows how putrid the material is. Bates is saddled with about four different, conflicting stereotypes of the "screwup mother" to weave together, but the film would rather make dick jokes or point out that, yes, Tony Cox is a little person than meaningfully explore its mother-son relationship. And Hendricks has nothing to do here but retreat into alleyways with Thornton for sexual rendezvous.
Bad Santa 2 doesn't direct its anger at consumer culture or crooked charities; it's just a tedious roundabout of despicable "characters" spewing bile at each other. No one wins in this meek slog, which is so desperate to offend all comers that nearly every joke misses. It all plays out like a seventh-grader's mimicking of the original: chock-full of sex, booze, and four-letter insults, but stripped of any originality or subversive pluck. The cacophony of bad-natured teasing, sad-sack self-loathing, and rehashed infantile proceedings will ensure that you leave the cinema pissed off. But it's important to remind yourself: Don't get too worked up about Bad Santa 2, since it's pretty clear that no one involved broke a sweat during its creation.