'Tis the Season

I am a movie snob. I will be the first to admit that I would never deign to watch a movie created especially for Lifetime or for Hallmark. The very thought chills me down to my cynical bones. No trite stories of treacly sentimentality or women empowerment stories for me. I prefer my stories with a harder edge, with really good writing and interesting plots. Ah, but there is a loophole. Take any sappy, sentimental schmaltz and brush the slightest Christmas theme on it and I am hooked. Kleenex in hand, I become the weepiest coach potato at any Christmas movie. Any variation of the most redundant themes of angels and santas, of goodwill toward men and cynics-turned-believers and I am there, remote in hand, settling down for a long winter's film. So 11 months a year I may be the champion of indie filmmakers, the one watching every film by Kevin Smith and Quentin Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson and David Fincher, but come December, I am the one on the couch, quilt on my lap, tissue pressed to my eye and Christmas in my heart.