I Love Stupid Christmas Chick Flicks

I’m not particularly festive. Although we usually had a tasteful nativity scene near the front entrance (because some kind of heavy guilt mysteriously emerges in Italians who lack it), not once in my childhood did we ever have a real Christmas tree, twinkling lights, charming snow globes, strung garlands, or a quaint ceramic holiday village. We never made gingerbread cookies, and I’ve never touched a candy cane because mint disgusts me. Now, I’m living in a little-ish apartment just outside of the capital, and I would love to enliven the rooms with tinsel and ornate wreaths, but I have neither the spare funds nor unused space for elaborate decorations. However, there is one silly holiday activity that I have been enjoying the entire month. It causes me great embarrassment to admit that I love those unpretentious, wholesome Hallmark-style movies made specifically for conservative-ish housewives.

You know exactly the movies I’m talking about. There’s a formula: The leading man and woman come from different backgrounds but meet due to some unusual circumstance, then there’s some mild interpersonal conflict (due to either a miscommunication or a concern that their lifestyles are too different to reconcile), then one person stays in town for a specific event despite wanting to leave, then they realize they love each other. A single chaste kiss occurs within the last five minutes. There are no dark surprises, aside from the infrequent instances where a close family member or friend dies. Sometimes, there are vague references to a family member who passed a long time ago, and everyone attempts to keep that person’s weirdly specific traditions alive. (“We have to drink four ounces of eggnog at 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve because grandma said Santa won’t come otherwise,” or something like that.) Of course, there’s always the local, racially ambiguous best friend who has no particular life background nor any defining personality traits aside from being supportive, reassuring, and full of corny puns. For no good reason at all, something low-stakes is treated as sacred and integral to everyone’s identity. (“Everyone who grew up in Maple Hollow loves the annual Christmas cookie competition, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas without it, but we can’t do it this year because of the terrible fire. . . unless someone can come up with a last-minute venue!”) The “villains” in this movie genre, to the extent they even exist in the plot, are just normal guys who work respectable jobs and haven’t yet embraced the holiday cheer. (“I absolutely cannot attend the Holly Jolly Festival because my boss is making me prepare for our case that goes to the Supreme Court in January,” says the guy who is supposedly an unreasonable jerk yet ends up saving the Holly Jolly Festival.) If you have seen just one of these movies, you have seen them all.

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Abigail Anthony

Abigail Anthony is a staff writer at National Review.

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I’m not particularly festive. Although we usually had a tasteful nativity scene near the front entrance (because some kind of heavy guilt mysteriously emerges in Italians who lack it), not once in my childhood did we ever have a real Christmas tree, twinkling lights, charming snow globes, strung garlands, or a quaint ceramic holiday village. We never made gingerbread cookies, and I’ve never touched a candy cane because mint disgusts me. Now, I’m living in a little-ish apartment just outside of the capital, and I would love to enliven the rooms with tinsel and ornate wreaths, but I have neither the spare funds nor unused space for elaborate decorations. However, there is one silly holiday activity that I have been enjoying the entire month. It causes me great embarrassment to admit that I love those unpretentious, wholesome Hallmark-style movies made specifically for conservative-ish housewives.

You know exactly the movies I’m talking about. There’s a formula: The leading man and woman come from different backgrounds but meet due to some unusual circumstance, then there’s some mild interpersonal conflict (due to either a miscommunication or a concern that their lifestyles are too different to reconcile), then one person stays in town for a specific event despite wanting to leave, then they realize they love each other. A single chaste kiss occurs within the last five minutes. There are no dark surprises, aside from the infrequent instances where a close family member or friend dies. Sometimes, there are vague references to a family member who passed a long time ago, and everyone attempts to keep that person’s weirdly specific traditions alive. (“We have to drink four ounces of eggnog at 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve because grandma said Santa won’t come otherwise,” or something like that.) Of course, there’s always the local, racially ambiguous best friend who has no particular life background nor any defining personality traits aside from being supportive, reassuring, and full of corny puns. For no good reason at all, something low-stakes is treated as sacred and integral to everyone’s identity. (“Everyone who grew up in Maple Hollow loves the annual Christmas cookie competition, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas without it, but we can’t do it this year because of the terrible fire. . . unless someone can come up with a last-minute venue!”) The “villains” in this movie genre, to the extent they even exist in the plot, are just normal guys who work respectable jobs and haven’t yet embraced the holiday cheer. (“I absolutely cannot attend the Holly Jolly Festival because my boss is making me prepare for our case that goes to the Supreme Court in January,” says the guy who is supposedly an unreasonable jerk yet ends up saving the Holly Jolly Festival.) If you have seen just one of these movies, you have seen them all.