The Telegraph gave Christmas Karma zero stars; only the second time the paper has awarded that particular dishonour ever, the other being Cats. The same review admits it’s made “with the best intentions by some lovely human beings.” Pick a lane. Because a film made with genuine intention and heart, however flawed its execution, doesn’t deserve to be tarred with the same brush as a peculiarly soulless digital horror show like Cats.
The Telegraph isn’t alone, though. Gurinder Chadha’s maximalist modern musical retelling of A Christmas Carol has been savaged by critics more-or-less across the board, accused of being cynical (which it isn’t) shoddily put together (which is isn’t) and cheap-looking (well, alright, a bit). Set in present day London it follows “Mr Sood” (Big Bang Theory’s Kunal Nayyar playing about a decade older than he actually is), a wealthy British-Indian businessman who despises refugees and Christmas in equal measure. Over one fateful Christmas Eve, he’s visited by three ghosts: Eva Longoria as a Day of the Dead-styled Christmas Past, Billy Porter as a soul-singing Christmas Present, and Boy George doing the silent, creepy pointing of Christmas Yet to Come. You will, of course, know the drill.
Does it work entirely? No. The Gary Barlow songs are aggressively forgettable. Bob Cratchit lives in a picturesque pastel terrace in what looks like either Notting or Primrose Hill that’s presumably worth two million, and that’s telling of the compromises being made here. Centralish London, after all, is full of real poverty, and there are many places the Cratchits could believably live. In the original book Bob lives in Camden Town, an area of London that still has plenty of social housing and grotty flats that would have done the trick. It feels like pandering to an idealised rom-com vision of the city that doesn’t sync with the grittiness of the very real racism and poverty shown elsewhere, presumably to help please an American audience necessary to secure funding. Elsewhere, the musical set pieces often feel underpowered and undermanned where they should be spectacular. Reviewers often note that the film is “Bollywood inspired”. It would have benefited from leaning way more into the maximalist aesthetic of the best Bollywood more often. When one character dismisses Cratchit as a “Muppet,” you’re not laughing with the film: you’re wishing he actually was one, because that would mean watching a demonstrably better version of this story.
But, honestly, none of this is that important. I’m well aware of all those faults and I still liked it. I’ve seen it twice, just to be sure. What the critical kicking often misses is that this is a profoundly uncynical film that honours its source material in the ways that actually matter.
A cynical Christmas Carol would play it safe. It would be formulaic, designed purely for profit, avoiding anything that might alienate audiences. Lord knows there have been plenty of versions over the years that twinkle close to the one happening in the background of Scrooged, that gloss over the burning anger at the heart of the story in favour of cosy nostalgia. That rejoice in abundance but forget the bit about “want being keenly felt”. Christmas Karma does none of those things. It tackles the refugee crisis, the cost-of-living crisis, British colonial fallout, and the Expulsion of Indians from Uganda under Idi Amin; the traumatic historical event that forms the backbone of Mr Sood’s past. We see young Sood’s family, prosperous and settled in Uganda, violently expelled and arriving in 1970s Britain as citizens, only to face brutal racial abuse. It’s one of the most compelling Scrooge backstories in any adaptation, giving genuine weight to his bitterness and making his transformation meaningful rather than mechanical.
These are deliberately provocative choices. The film makes its protagonist someone who’s pulled up the ladder behind him, who uses his own suffering to justify cruelty, or at the very least indifference, to others facing similar struggles. Cynical films don’t take those risks; they count money and play to the gallery.
Gurinder Chadha has spent years on this project. She spoke in Parliament about it in 2024, describing Mr Sood as “an Indian Tory who hates refugees.” She explicitly stated her aim was to create “a festive classic for our times and for generations to come,” inspired by her annual family tradition of watching It’s a Wonderful Life. She’s on record saying Christmas is her favourite holiday, that “every faith teaches empathy and giving.” This is a passion project from a filmmaker with form — Blinded by the Light is a thing of glowing heart and warmth, and Bend It Like Beckham remains a landmark of British cinema.
And crucially, both Chadha and Christmas Karma understand what A Christmas Carol is actually about. Having watched every version of Dickens’ story I could find, I can tell you: the worst adaptations think it’s about cosy Victorian nostalgia and pretty snow. The best know that Christmas is just the excuse to tell the tale. The story is about class, poverty, materialism, and the way we harden ourselves against the suffering of others. It’s social commentary disguised as a nostalgic ghost story, and always has been.
Chadha gets this. The spirit of the book is shot through this film. The structural beats are all there: Marley’s ghost (admittedly dreadful looking — an unrecognisable CG Hugh Bonneville), the three spirits, Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim, the redemptive arc. The Uganda sequence in particular, showing Sood’s journey from privileged child to impoverished refugee to hardened businessman, absolutely contains the essence of what makes Dickens’ miser work. It’s personal storytelling rooted in Chadha’s own Kenyan-Punjabi background, and it gives the film a soul that transcends its technical limitations.
There are good jokes here. There’s warmth, and when the film allows itself to breathe, there’s a Christmassy glow. The Ghost of Christmas Past section (looking past the fact that Longoria seems to be in a different film entirely) is comfortably the best in the film in terms of visual style, storytelling and Nayer’s performance, and it gets to the exact heart of Dickens. The film’s biggest strength is its sincerity. Chadha, who can be spotted getting down in one of the film’s most enjoyable musical sequences, wears her heart on her sleeve and in an age of ironic detachment and algorithmically-generated content, that counts for something.
Is Christmas Karma a great film? No. But it honours Dickens in all the ways that matter. It’s ambitious, messy, and deeply sincere and it stretches its budget way further than it should conceivably go in the service of the season: that’s all very Christmas. The zero-star brigade have confused budgetery shortcomings with moral bankruptcy, and in doing so, they’ve missed the point entirely. This isn’t cynicism, this is a filmmaker reaching for something sincerely and not quite grasping it, which is infinitely more valuable than competent mediocrity. I’ll take this over Nativity and its sequels. I’ll take it over Fred Claus. I’ll certainly take it over Robert Zemeckis’ 2009 pointy-pointy-flashy-flashy 3D hellscape Christmas Carol, which had a hundred times the budget and a fraction of the heart on show here.
Go any lower than two stars and you need to be visited by three ghosts yourself. It’s a comfortable three if you’re tuned in to the right spirit. Two if you’re feeling miserly. Christmas Karma deserves far better than burial at the bottom of the garden with Cats.
To find the perfect gift for the season look no further than Mistletoe & Vinyl – The Story of the Christmas No. 1 by Marc Burrows – see him on tour and order your copy here.
