Every December, streaming platforms look at the calendar, crack their knuckles, and say, “What if we simply released everything?” The result is the New Christmas Movies Era: a glossy, slightly deranged content avalanche where snowmen are hot, ex–teen heartthrobs are inexplicably shirtless, and the concept of “plot” is treated as optional. These films are not meant to be analysed. They are meant to be consumed while half-wrapping gifts, half-texting a group chat, and fully questioning your taste levels. And yet. Here I am. Reporting from the front lines.

Yes, this is the one.
Yes, Chad Michael Murray strips.
Yes, we all collectively said “okay girl” and pressed play.

This film knows exactly why it exists. It is Magic Mike by way of Hallmark, with mistletoe. The plot is irrelevant. The energy is “former heartthrob proves he’s still got it while pretending this is about Christmas spirit.” It’s camp. It’s absurd. It’s doing charity through abs. Honestly? Respect.

A snowman comes to life and is hot. That’s it. That’s the movie.

This is peak Netflix Christmas logic:
• whimsical premise
• shirtless man confused by weather
• woman healing from emotional damage

Is it good? No.
Is it deeply watchable? Unfortunately yes.

This is about comparison culture, fake perfection, and the subtle horror of running into someone who appears to be winning at life. It’s basically Christmas as an anxiety disorder. Heather Graham is there. Jason Biggs is trying his best. It feels like a Facebook argument in movie form.

Body-swap but make it Christmas. Jennifer Garner, Ed Helms, children learning empathy, adults learning boundaries, chaos learning nothing. It’s harmless, glossy, and engineered for background noise while you wrap presents you regret buying.

Eddie Murphy in a Christmas movie should be a slam dunk, but this one is… aggressively fine. It has elves, magic, suburban competition, and the sense that everyone involved was politely confused about tone. Watchable, but not iconic.

The Rock + Chris Evans + Santa Lore + action movie budget.
This is Christmas as a Marvel side quest.

It’s loud. It’s ridiculous. It treats the North Pole like an intelligence agency. It feels like it was built in a boardroom called “Holiday IP Opportunities.” And yet… it kind of works? In a “why am I enjoying this” way.

Melissa McCarthy as a genie who is aggressively chaotic and emotionally earnest. It wants to be Elf but lands closer to “streaming comfort food.” Not offensive, not life-changing, but pleasant in a December afternoon way.

British Christmas sequel energy is very specific. This one doubles down on family chaos, travel mishaps, and emotional misunderstandings that could be solved with one conversation. Cosy, annoying, kind of charming.

I know this is technically not new-new, but culturally it still counts. Lindsay Lohan’s return to rom-com form, amnesia, snow, lodge vibes, and the internet cheering her on like it was a sports match. This walked so others could run.

Do we need this many Christmas movies? No.
Will I watch most of them anyway? Obviously.
Does Chad Michael Murray stripping fundamentally alter the genre? Possibly.

The new Christmas movie era understands something important: December is exhausting, feelings are high, and sometimes you just want something shiny, silly, and a little bit hot.

And honestly? Fair.