I’ve spent a somewhat embarrassingly disproportionate share of my free time this holiday season watching those endless made-for-Hallmark Christmas movies. Good God—the scripts come off like bad first drafts banged out over a weekend, though somebody is probably making a handsome living writing them. (Any chance you’re hiring, Hallmark?) There are a few variations on the formula, but most play out something like this:
A work-obsessed city gal—typically a “marketing exec,” though clearly zero research has been conducted as to what precisely that entails—finds herself stranded in provincial New England, British Columbia, at the heart of the holiday season (kindly disregard the lush summer foliage in the background of every wide shot), where an earnest Bill-Pullman-in-While You Were Sleeping clone, far too manly and pragmatic to have ever participated in something as frivolous as an acting class, teaches our heroine, often with the aide of a precocious (and fortuitously motherless) child, the true meaning of Christmas—read: small-town livin’ in the real America. Twirling gape-mouthed in an obscenely production-designed town square—brought to you by Balsam Hill!—blanketed in a freshly fallen silent shroud of SnowCel, our newly enlightened protagonist declares, “This is what Christmas is supposed to look like!”
And that got me thinking: What should Christmas look like? I mean, if each of us could put the holiday season on a postcard to serve as the perfect representation of what it evokes in our hearts, what would yours depict?