Sex, Rage and Christmas Movies
Hallmark and conservative propaganda
December has finally arrived. As the temperatures drop, the allure of cozying up with a warm blanket and a cup of hot cocoa becomes irresistible. In homes far and wide, mine included, the annual tradition unfolds - the joyous marathon of Christmas movies. There is ‘Home Alone’ that makes you laugh, there is ‘Love Actually’ that makes you cry, and then there is this.
Not only (hello, Sweet Home Alabama) but mostly Hallmark movies, with their predictably heartwarming plots, seem to have a particular affinity for a certain kind of storyline. It's like a formula straight out of a 'How to Reinforce Traditional Values' handbook.
It’s almost always some sort of version of the following: a miserable career woman living in the city goes back to her home town, falls in love with a gloomy misunderstood man, decides to ditch her corner office and bustling city life for a quieter existence in the countryside, where the only deadlines are the ones the cows set for milking, and gets married. The end.
In this picturesque town, the annual calendar revolves around timeless traditions – from the Winter Festival to the Summer Fair, each event designed to ensure that the heroine discovers the true meaning of life, which conveniently aligns with settling down in a charming cottage with her newfound love interest. Her journey follows a well-trodden path – trading in her power suits for floral aprons and high heels for sensible flats. It's a leap of faith into a world where the biggest crisis is a shortage of cinnamon for the annual gingerbread competition. Forget breaking glass ceilings; the only glass shattering in these movies is the delicate clink of champagne flutes at yet another town celebration. It's almost as if the key to eternal happiness lies in embracing a life that's perpetually stuck in a 1950s time warp.
What is it about those men? Is the sex that good? Do they have not only a dead wife, but a golden dick? Yes, a rather concerning number of them have dead wives, even Jude Law in my beloved The Holiday. Go figure.
As much as I enjoy a fairy tale like narrative and a reasonably sized dick, I can’t help but feel uneasy watching these stories unfold . And recently I understood why. These movies are not harmless carefree rom-coms, they are a by-product of conservative propaganda. Amanda Marcotte from Salon went as far as to call is fascist.
It's almost as if Hallmark has a secret agenda to convince us all that the key to happiness is abandoning any shred of ambition and embracing a life centered around a man. Perhaps they have a deal with the local bridal boutiques in those small towns. Who needs a thriving career when you can have a picture-perfect wedding in the town square? And thus, another movie wraps up, leaving us wondering if they're subtly trying to recruit us into the ranks of christian-like living, one romantic comedy at a time. And let's not forget the ever-present advice from the wise old townsfolk who seem to have their lives figured out better than a self-help book. Advice being the following: leave you job, move in with the man you’ve just met, throw a pie festival to save the town from bankruptcy.
Don't get me wrong; a good love story can be heartwarming, but it's as Hallmark is on a mission to prove that a woman's true calling is not the boardroom but the bake sale committee. If I had a dime for every time they portrayed a woman's success as inversely proportional to her proximity to a skyscraper, I'd be a rich woman.
And while we may roll our eyes at the predictable plotlines and the cookie-cutter characters, there's a guilty pleasure in the escapism Hallmark provides. Maybe I'm just overanalysing what's meant to be feel-good entertainment. After all, I watch it, and who wouldn't want a break from reality to indulge in a world where problems are neatly resolved in under two hours, and love conquers all, even ambition? Maybe it's the allure of a world where problems dissolve like snowflakes on a warm winter's day, or perhaps it's the comfort in knowing that, in that universe, no challenge is insurmountable as long as you have a quaint town square and a soulmate to share it with? What a bullshit. We all can guess what happens to her after the credits. She probably becomes increasingly miserable and eventually tries to leave him. She succeeds or she becomes the dead wife, most likely the latter.
Rachel Shukert twetted last year: “You laugh but Mrs. Claus was once a big city career girl in stiletto heels who went back to her home town for Christmas and fell in love with a bearded artisanal toymaker. 900 years later her life is a living hell” I think about that tweet ever since.
There is nothing wrong with wanting a slow life in a small town with a man who likes to chop wood, as long as it’s a choice and not the only path written for women. I myself fantasise occasionally of owning an artisanal bakery, a second-hand bookshop or running an inn in Stars Hollows. But let’s not forget, Lorelai never settled for a man.
Hallmark movies sell an idealized vision of traditional values, a narrative that champions preserving cultural norms. Media becomes a potent tool in disseminating these crafted narratives. And as harmless as it looks, there is danger in it. This essay is not a plea to forbid love stories, it's a call to approach media consumption critically, understanding the motivations behind the content and recognising the constructed realities presented to us.
I will finish with a tweet from Icona “I want a Hallmark movie about a woman who dumps her bigoted small-town boyfriend, moves to a big city, lands a dream job and discovers the magic of Christmas by living in community with people of different creeds and cultures.”
A girl can dream.