A minor-league hockey brute (Johnson), convinced that kids should set their bars low after his own dreams were dashed, is magically sentenced to duty as the titular winged courier. Hollywood keeps getting away with churning out such half-assed family products (children’s mythology + the Rock in a pink tutu = ka-ching!), but all the CGI fairy dust, dippy tooth puns and a semi-amusing Billy Crystal cameo can’t disguise the fact that this sugary distraction is as hollow as a cavity.—Aaron Hillis
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