Overview: An ultra-rich, ultra-buff millionaire nutritional-supplement magnate (who else but Hulk Hogan) comes down with a case of Hollywood head-bonk amnesia and believes he is Santa Claus, complete with balding blonde hair, gigantic muscles, and elf helper with a thick Brooklyn accent who spends the whole movie trying to rob him blind.
Directed By: John Murlowski, 1996
The Case For: If you're some kind of mutant green Seussian morlock/demon/gremlin who despises Christmas and all that it stands for, watching this movie will definitely cheer you up.
The Case Against: Giant yawning plot holes, local haunted house-level acting, and the Hulkster's roid rage and leather-daddy fetishwear Santa suit all combine to make sure this will never become anyone's beloved holiday classic.
Santa With Muscles. Go ahead, take a few moments to revel in what is undoubtedly and by far the best goddamn movie title we've ever encountered here (and we've seen some doozies.) From the title we have no idea what Santa is up to or who he's hanging out with, but we can rest assured that at least he's ripped. How bad could it be, anyway? Action-hero Santa has to save Christmas from aliens/Nazis/secular bastards going around saying "Happy Holidays"? Fat, flabby Santa hurts his back in a crash, and only a steroid-riddled demigod can deadlift his sleigh back into action? Perhaps a 3-hour instructional video on proper posture and technique for lifting heavy presents, and disguising a hernia belt for use with a Santa suit? Oh, if only any of those descriptions were accurate, the world would be a more vibrant and cheerful place. Here's a little taste of what Santa With Muscles actually brings us in his sack full of cinematic coal:
No, you're not hallucinating from drinking too much of your redneck cousin's moonshine eggnog; that's Hulk Hogan in a Santa suit, because he got amnesia and now thinks he is literally Santa Claus. Seriously, just think for a minute about how insanely specific that memory loss is. He forgets his entire life, who his parents were, what kind of car he drives, what he had for breakfast that morning, but he remembers that Santa exists, what he looks like, but not that he's, you know, fictional. He does remember that he's sporting giant pythons underneath that bulky red felt, which comes in handy when he decides that Santa is also a crimefighter who likes to piledrive mischievious teenagers right onto the naughty list with extreme prejudice. In summary: this is many levels of disbelief even beyond Z-grade soap-opera level amnesia. There must have been a factory-surplus unboxed "My Little Experimental Brain Surgery Theater: Memory Center Edition" in the trash pile that he fell headfirst onto.
As far as Santa Clauses throughout movie history go, Santa With 24-Inch Pythons isn't a particularly glowing example. He makes Bad Santa look like...well, not like Good Santa, but maybe like Regular Santa, or at least Fake Mall Santa With a Mild Hangover. Although even if the Hulkster's constant taunting of the police with paintball guns and other buffoonery seems whimsical to us, it pisses them off badly enough to try to blow him to kingdom come with the Police Bazooka(tm), so maybe he has a long rap sheet. Come to think of it, even after he supposedly becomes a beacon of generosity and goodwill, Santa Hulk gets into fistfights more often than Russell Crowe with two fifths of Johnnie Walker duct-taped to his hands:
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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