I have been sucked in to the nonstop schmaltzy Christmas movies currently on the airwaves.
Back to back to back. So much syrupy sweetness, my sugar levels have spiked.
Hallmark is the new Harlequin with the same plot lines but without the ripping bodices. I suppose there could be heaving bosoms but it is hard to detect in a bulky Christmas sweater.
Here’s what I am noticing:
They are mostly filmed in western Canada but representing small town USA (minus the guns).
The women stars who aren’t really stars but B-listers who I may or may not have seen in movies before. Most of the holiday movies star either Candace Cameron Bure, Lori Loughlin or that girl from Mean Girls.
Is there some union rule that only 20 actors and actresses are allowed to star in every single holiday movie?
The male co-stars, with a couple notable exceptions, are complete no-names and not especially hunky. They don’t look like they’d be snapped up quickly unless the female star was desperate, trapped in a snowbank or suffering a concussion. Poor sweet Cameron Matheson – every girl he falls for has amnesia. That’s gotta give you a complex.
(Beware: spoiler alert on plot)
Their names are usually Noel, Joy, Mary, Nick or Hope.
There is always a super-rich workaholic in the crowd who cares only about him or herself and hates everything about the festive season. But do not fear because they will eventually have a change of heart and no longer care about that dream job in the big city making a move to the small charming town where now their only desire is to find the perfect Christmas tree. ( No one who carries said Christmas tree gets spruce needles up the nose).
The people in the movie are not always wealthy and yet their homes are perfectly decked out in the most extravagant display of Christmas lights. Not a single bulb burns out as they flip the switch as it does in real life nor does anybody trip on the cords. Not one curse word is ever uttered. I kinda wish there was—just once.
The children – oh the precious children. They are so kind and well behaved. Their only wish is for their sad sack mother and/or father to find love this Christmas. Really? Every kid I ever met just wanted a cellphone and a puppy. Their favourite activity is placing the tinfoil star at the top of the tree and making homemade ornaments.
Everyone – and I mean EVERYONE – can make sugar cookies like a pro with the most perfect icing decorations. Every single person can handle a piping bag like a boss… no explosions leaving ugly icing blobs on the cookies and the counter? Not one grease spot on the beautiful red party dress they are wearing whilst baking and sewing the last stitch on the kid’s Christmas play costume. He’s playing the elf and/or the angel this year, and wrote an original song too. (Barf!)
There is going to be a proposal. This is a given. Just as the eyes glisten and the happy couple’s lips prepare to meet under a shining north star… wait, wait, it begins to snow! Everything stops as they gaze toward the heavens to view the wondrous flakes. This has never happened to me. When I see snow there is shock and fear – well, some wonder – as I wonder where the heck is my stupid shovel. Mitts and boots? Chapstick? Where’s the Chapstick? There is rarely a kisser nearby.
I could go on but I’ve got to tune in to see if the girl remembers her name in time to snap to it and win the gingerbread house contest and the love of the hometown guy. I don’t know how this is going to turn out but I’ve got a good feeling about it.
