Hogfather

London. Christmas Day Eve. TV on. Crap on every channel.
London. Christmas Day. TV on. Crap on every channel. Oh, wait, repeats from "X-factor" auditions. You gotta love the way people make asses of themselves and finally reveal to the world how crazy they are.
"The Hogfather" distinguished itself from the herd with its (I can't believe I am writing this cliche) playful banter a la Terry Pratchett. Those who dig his books and his Discworld may have found it a bit disappointing and slow, but I, who only know it from a few chapters, savoured it thoroughly because it was witty (in truth his books spit out at least a dozen funny liners a page).
Death, the main character here and not the Hogfather (a hoggish version of Santa), is funny by saying things like "Human beings make life so interesting. Do you know, that in a universe so full of wonders, they have managed to invent boredom." Death actually tries to save Hogfather from disappearing from children's collective minds and on its way there manages to make itself endearing along with its hopeless assistant. Add a psychopatic assasin, and you got yourself a thriller.