Johnson is Derek 'Tooth Fairy' Thompson, a minor-league hockey bruiser with a pension for telling kids their dreams are hooey and that the titular pixie does not exist. The film introduces its star as he sends a fellow player's CGI-rendered medial incisor flying heavenward. Following several incidents of Scrooge-like meddling -- including an attempt to expose his girlfriend's daughter to the 'truth' -- Derek is sentenced to two weeks as a tooth fairy. Billy Crystal, in a brief, unsalvageable cameo, gives him the tricks of the trade and Derek, after many a pratfall, learns that he must change his ways and learns the importance of imagination.
In reality, the film is the deeply unfunny tale of one hockey player finding the courage to make one miraculous goal in his minor-league career and therefore gain the respect of his fellow players, his girlfriend's kids and a nebula of winged do-gooders. Packed densely with product placement and played without even a hint of such high-falutin concepts as wit and originality, Tooth Fairy does find time to feed the movie-going public's insatiable appetite for watching brawny, self-serious men wear pink tutus, make animal noises and use shiny objects.
Michael Lembeck could be called 'director' in that he has the mental capacity to point at what he wants to be on screen and has amassed the lexicological range to utter the word 'Cut!' Past that, the term is being stretched. If you feel I am being unfair to what is, after all, a movie made for kids, save pity for such seasoned pros as Julie Andrews, Ashley Judd and, in another cameo, Family Guy brainchild Seth McFarlane. And there is a special place in hell reserved for those who waste the comedic bombast of Stephen Merchant, the co-creator of BBC's The Office, who plays Derek's geeky fairy-caseworker.
One might say, after a year that saw 'children's films' become further validated as an art form, that we have been spoiled. Is it fair to expect every kid's flick to rival masterpieces the likes of Fantastic Mr. Fox and Coraline or even be as preposterously enjoyable as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? Maybe not but that's not the reason Tooth Fairy deserves such harsh resentment. Lembeck's film exudes the smugness of a decade's worth of lazy, shallow and borderline-incompetent filmmaking that treats children, who have made any one of Pixar's magnificent features an immense hit, as if they are nothing but turnkeys for their parent's wallets. For that, both the practitioners and the product deserve to be shamed.
