In Defense of Hallmark Christmas Movies

deck the halls with schmaltz

It’s November 13, and I’m wrapped up in a blanket on the couch at 6am. Normally at this time I’d be watching SportsCenter, taking in highlights (or lowlights) of Knicks and Islanders games. Instead, I’m watching the Hallmark Channel, as I’ve been doing for a week straight. I’m watching Christmas movies.

As you know, it’s been a long year. I’ve been through a severe bout of depression brought on by an impending divorce. I’ve been sad, I’ve been angry, I’ve felt hurt and heartsick and hopeless. I needed something to lift me up, to provide a respite from these morose feelings I’ve been having. Something life affirming. Something happy.

And there was the Hallmark Channel. Playing nothing but Christmas movies. Treacle to the rescue.

I love Christmas. I love the feel-good, familial warmth the season provides. I love the atmosphere, the decorations, the way concentrating on the joys of the season and the holiday itself keeps me from thinking too much about how cold and dark the days are. So a channel where they are showing movies where small towns dress themselves up in so much Christmas garb, where people fall in love under mistletoe, where everyone find their happiness amid fluffy snowflakes…well, shoot that stuff into my veins.

Sure, every movie is basically the same. A former tv star takes on the role as a small town girl who has moved away to the big city for a Very Important Job, but something is bringing her home for the holidays. There, she meets up with her old boyfriend or the new town veterinarian (a widow with a child) and she falls in love and decides to give up her Very Important Job for a job right here in the lovely, perfect little town she grew up in, where she can live in bliss with the newly found love of her life and everyone discovers the true meaning of the season. Or something like that. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is what these movies provide for me: a great escape. For two hours or so I’m transported to a quaint little town where everyone is happy, where the local diner and general store and adorable little homes are well decorated, where the snow is always falling but it never turns a New York slushy gray, where people still go Christmas caroling, where everyone gets along and bad things like heartbreak and profound sadness don’t exist. I’m there. I’m in that town. I’m rooting for love and happiness. Me, who never met a romcom I didn’t hate. I’m sitting on my couch sighing at the happy scenes, waiting with anticipation for the inevitable kiss, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort. It is all just what I need.

That I know what’s going to happen doesn’t matter. That everything is going to be wrapped up in a neat little bow in the final ten minutes is what does. These movies aren’t real life. And I don’t want them to be. I want escapism. I want a break. I want to immerse myself in a fantasy world where problems are all solved and everyone comes together to solve them, where people believe in true love and the goodness of human beings, where Santa just might be real. They are comfort food for your brain and soul, a giant bowl of mashed potatoes for when you’re feeling sad or angry and don’t know what to do with your feelings.

Hallmark Christmas movies are not going to cure my depression or change what’s happening in my world. But for a little while each day, I suspend my disbelief and escape to a place where all is right and good.