The finished product, however, is drastically different than the dark and quirky film that I expected. Michael Keaton won the lead and Troy Miller replaced Raimi at the helm, so, on paper, it still didn’t sound too bad. Keaton has done dark (Batman) and quirky (Beetlejuice) while first-time director Miller has done both as a member of HBO’s wickedly fantastic Mr. Show comedy troupe. But there are still problems with Frost.

Problem #1 is that Frost has turned out to be a kid-flick. Not that kid-flicks are inherently bad (see current releases Babe: Pig in the City and A Bug’s Life for proof), but the ray of hope grew somewhat dimmer. I remained optimistic as the credited screenwriters were Mark Steven Johnson (writer/director of the terrific Simon Birch) and Steven Bloom (James & the Giant Peach).

Problem #2 is the snow. They must have filmed this during the sunniest part of August in southern California. The snow is so fake-looking that it’s actually distracting. At one point, the family dog trods through the fluffy white stuff, which comes up to his belly, but doesn’t leave any kind of trail. Granted, this is a pretty minor issue, but if you’re going to pay Jim Henson’s Creatureshop to animate the snowman, why not go the extra yard and have realistic snow?

Problem #3 is that Keaton’s father, leader of the struggling bluesy Jack Frost Band, isn’t really that bad of a dad at all. Being a traveling musician, Jack isn’t always there to see his kid Charlie (Joseph Cross) play hockey or congratulate him for an exemplary report card. He doesn’t beat his wife (Kelly Preston), nor does he snuff out his cigarettes on Charlie’s arms. If anything, Charlie comes off as a bit whiny.

The last straw for Charlie is when Jack’s band gets their first big break, but must play a show on Christmas to get signed to a major label (perhaps Charlie thought his pop was selling out). On the way to the show, Jack decides to turn around and spend the holiday with his family. But he crashes the car and dies instead. This setup takes about forty minutes.

Flash forward one year to a bitter, fatherless Charlie struggling in both school and social life. One night, he wishes Jack back to life with a magic harmonica, and when the snowman in the front yard channels the spirit of his dead dad, the two are reunited at last. Of course at first, everyone in the sleepy Colorado town thinks that Charlie’s grief is causing him to crack up. They see him arguing with the snowman. They see him dragging the snowman through the center of town on a sled. We had a kid like that in our neighborhood, but my mom always made me come inside when he was loose.

Anyway, Frozen Pop teaches Charlie the "J" shot in hockey and helps him get even with Rory Buck, the evil school bully (who appears to be the grandson of A Christmas Story’s yellow-eyed Scut Farcas), and - blah-blah-blah - everyone goes home happy.

Despite dumbing the story down to the level of a second grader, the movie is still enjoyable for adults for three reasons. The first is the fun of picking out Frank Zappa’s three kids (Dweezil, Moon and Ahmet all appear). The second is spotting the cast members of TV’s Mr. Show (I counted three, plus one voice-over). The third is trying to figure out why Mark Addy (the fat guy from The Full Monty) was cast as a hardware store employee and why screaming poet Henry Rollins played a suburban hockey dad.

The kids will love the snowball fight, which is second in intensity this year only to the storming of the beaches at Normandy in Saving Private Ryan. They’ll also love the unexplainable snowboard/sled chase scene down what must be the biggest hill on the planet. This rivals The French Connection in terms of elapsed time and sheer square mileage covered. In real life, the participants would have ended up somewhere in Idaho.

While not an instant holiday classic, Frost is still the best Christmas film of the year (sure, the only other one is Jonathan Taylor-Thomas’ awful I’ll Be Home for Christmas, but who’s counting). Now, if I were some big, high-falutin’ film critic, they would cut that first sentence up and use it for promotion by blaring "The Best…Film of the Year!" in television and newspaper ads. It ain’t, but it ain’t too bad, either.

1:38 - for mild profanity, cartoonish violence, some light sexual innuendo and talk of "frozen balls"