Mr Billy Bob Thornton has worn some unexpected items in his time. That fringe in Fargo. The matching outfits of his band the Boxmasters. A vial of Ms Angelina Jolie’s blood, later clarified as a “locket”, during his fifth marriage. But perhaps the most incongruous is the soiled shopping-mall Saint Nicholas suit he sports in Bad Santa.

As with the classics of the Christmas cultural canon – A Christmas Carol, It’s A Wonderful Life, Lethal Weapon – 2003’s Bad Santa presents its protagonist with an opportunity for redemption, renewal and growth. Thornton begins the movie at rock bottom. By the end, however, he’s only just about staggered up off of the floor.

His Willie T Soke is a soak who shores up in a shopping centre every December, dressed as Santa, and there’s little to suggest that this will change. This seasoned crook turned seasonal worker has been to prison once, married twice and dodged the draft. “I’ve had my eye socket punched in, a kidney taken out and I got a bone-chip in my ankle that’s never gonna heal,” he says. His soul, his colleague confides, is “dog shit”. And judging by the weary look on his face, he’s seen at least one too many Christmases.

In short, what this Santa is giving is not necessarily something that you want. And that’s before we get to the fruity language. The “unrated” version of the film drops 170 F-bombs – a record for a Christmas movie. In the strip malls of Phoenix, festive spirit clearly means something very different from what it does in Bedford Falls. And should you imbibe over the holidays, we encourage you to do so responsibly.

Bad Santa is not without its life lessons, however. Foremost, what the right clothes will get you, even when worn badly. (Nothing here is hung with care.) Access to the department store’s petty cash, but also the trust of naïve children. When one boy asks Willie if he is the real Santa, he replies, “No, I’m an accountant. I wear this fucking thing as a fashion statement, all right?”

As with Thornton’s self-loathing (and elf-loathing) barfly, the backstory behind Santa’s traditional attire is a little hazy. In the 1823 poem later attributed to American writer Mr Clement Clarke Moore, Saint Nick “was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot”. Throughout the 19th century, Father Christmas’ “little round belly” was largely seen in tan or green clothing until Harper’s Weekly cartoonist Mr Thomas Nast popularised the red suit. It was Mr Haddon Sundblom’s drawings for Coca-Cola in the 1930s that helped fasten this festive image in place.