At the risk of sound like the Grinch, one must bemoan the early arrival of holiday films prior to the Thanksgiving holiday. Even as temperatures drop, it feels too soon to fully indulge in the platform’s yearly feast of low-cost holiday treats.
Similar to American chocolates that no longer contain genuine cocoa, the service’s holiday films are relied upon for their brand of mediocrity. They offer predictable elements – nostalgic casting, low budgets, artificial winter scenes, and unbelievable plots. At worst, these movies are forgettable train wrecks; in the best scenarios, they are lighthearted distractions.
The new Netflix film, the newest holiday offering, disappears into the broad center of unremarkable territory. Directed by Mark Steven Johnson, whose previous romantic comedy was so disposable, this movie goes down like cheap bubbly – fittingly lackluster and situational.
It begins with what looks like a computer-made commercial for drug store brand champagne. This ad is actually the pitch of the main character, played by the actress, to her colleagues at a financial firm. The protagonist is the stereotypical image of a career woman – overlooked, phone-obsessed, and driven to the detriment of her private world. When her superior dispatches her to Paris to close a deal over Christmas, her sister makes her promise take one night in the city to live for herself.
Naturally, the French capital is the perfect place to pull someone from Google Maps, even when the city is covered in unconvincing digital snowfall. In an absurdly cutesy bookstore, the lead meet-cutes with Henri Cassell, who pulls her away from her phone. Following rom-com conventions, Sydney at first rejects this ideal guy for silly reasons.
Just as predictable are the movie mechanics that unfold at abrupt quarter turns, reflecting the turning of aging champagne bottles in the cellars of the family vineyard. The twist? The love interest is the heir to the estate, hesitant to run it and resentful toward his father for selling it. In perhaps the movie’s most salient contribution to the genre, Henri is extremely judgmental of corporate buyouts. The conflict? The heroine truly thinks she’s not stripping the ancestral business for parts, vying against three caricatures: a stern Frenchwoman, a rigid German, and an out-of-touch wealthy man.
The twist? Her shady colleague the office rival shows up unannounced. The core? Henri and Sydney gaze longingly at one another in festive sleepwear, across a vast chasm in economic worldview.
The gift and the curse is that none of this lingers longer than a bubbly buzz on an empty stomach. There is no substantial content – the lead actress, most famous for her part in Friday Night Lights, gives a merely adequate portrayal, superficially pleasant and gestures of care, more maternal than love interest material. The male star provides just the right amount of Gallic appeal with light inner conflict and little else. The tricks are unfunny, the love story is inoffensive, and the happy-ever-after is predictable.
Despite its philosophizing on the exclusivity of sparkling wine, nobody claims it is anything other than a mainstream product. The flaws are also the things to like. It’s fair to say a critic’s feelings about the film a champagne problem.
- The Holiday Film can be streamed on Netflix.
