Michelle Pfeiffer in Generic Holiday Dramedy

Say this for Amazon’s Oh. What. Fun.: Until its beleaguered protagonist, Claire Clauster (Michelle Pfeiffer), grumbles “Where are the holiday movies about moms?” it actually hadn’t occurred to me that many of the Christmas classics are about males.

There are moms and sisters and wives and girlfriends in It’s a Wonderful Life or National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation or Elf, certain, however they’re neither the heroes, nor the purpose — even though in actuality, as this movie emphatically factors out, it’s so typically ladies who do the work that Santa will get all of the credit score for.

So, sure: Consider me absolutely persuaded that it’s excessive time for Hollywood to provide these women their due. I’m much less satisfied, although, that Oh. What. Fun. is the thank-you notice they deserve. A forgettable mix of unearned saccharinity and unacknowledged sourness, the Michael Showalter-directed dramedy capably proves that Mom is the true angel of the season however falls effectively in need of proving that Christmas is price all her fussing within the first place.

Not that Claire — apparently a Houston homemaker, although it’s onerous to make sure for the reason that film by no means bothers to clarify how she and her amiably clueless husband (Denis Leary) are in a position to afford their extraordinarily good home — would ever query her dedication. She lives to host Christmas for her three grownup youngsters — harried firstborn Channing (Felicity Jones), flaky center little one Taylor (Chloë Grace Moretz) and aimless youngest son Sammy (Dominic Sessa) — even when which means doing all of the cooking and cleansing and driving midway throughout city to fill up on their favourite treats.  

The solely factor she asks in return is that they nominate her for the Holiday Mom contest, placed on by her favourite daytime host (Eva Longoria as Zazzy). When they ignore her not-so-subtle hints, she grits her tooth and tries to make the most effective of it anyway. It’s not till they unintentionally ditch her en path to a live performance — which she purchased all of the tickets for, natch — that she decides she’s had sufficient. Without a lot as a notice, she drives off on her personal journey, leaving the remainder of the Clausters to fend for themselves.

The greatest draw for a potential viewer will undoubtedly be the solid, which additionally consists of Jason Schwartzman as Channing’s dorky however well-meaning husband, Joan Chen because the clan’s snooty neighbor, Danielle Brooks in a small cameo as a supply driver and extra. Their collective star energy, mixed with the units’ heat lighting and luxe décor, provides Oh. What. Fun. a high-gloss sheen, promising a product that’s a reduce above the standard cheapo vacation junk.

Without exception, nevertheless, they’re all woefully underserved by a bland script (written by Showalter and Chandler Baker, primarily based on Baker’s brief story) that assigns most of them perhaps one persona trait apiece. Pfeiffer, who because the lead has probably the most meat to work with, turns in a stable efficiency, elevated by grace notes like the way in which she swallows Claire’s disappointments. But in its dedication to make Claire an Everymom, Oh. What. Fun. fails to provide her any complicated or distinctive interiority.

Nor does this solid share the form of chemistry that may promote the Clausters as a cohesive household unit. Their relationships lack specificity; in lieu of histories or wounds or inside jokes between them, they’re constructed round threadbare tropes like “clueless sitcom dad” or “responsible eldest daughter.” When feelings boil over throughout one tense dinner, I used to be solely shocked to find that any of those folks harbored robust emotions about one another in any respect.

What Oh. What. Fun. is ready to depict with lived-in specificity is the record of grievances skilled by Claire and other people like her. Mostly, they’re onerous to argue with. There is lots of cultural strain on moms to make the Yuletide magical, and Claire in all probability is proper that the majority of us might stand to be extra forthcoming with “those three little words that mean so much to moms” — not “I love you,” however “Can I help?” This film feels made with the aim of getting overburdened dad and mom to nod furiously in commiseration, and I think about it’ll obtain that aim simply.

But there’s some extent at which the sheer quantity of complaints crosses over from relatable to miserable. In this universe, not even a self-described “boss bitch” just like the Oprah-esque Zazzy can get her husband to convey a present extra considerate than upholstery cleaner (although it’s fairly humorous that one other of her Christmas horror tales includes her daughter making her pancakes — which would appear a candy gesture, solely “I hate pancakes and she knows that”).

At the identical time, the movie presents scant sense of the rewards that may make all these sacrifices worthwhile for the Claires of the world. It’s as if the movie takes with no consideration that girls are unfailingly dedicated to their husbands and kids, and so doesn’t trouble questioning what they get out of those relationships. On the flip facet, it additionally presumes it’s of utmost significance that Christmas look or really feel a sure means, however presents little proof that any of the Clausters — as much as and together with Channing’s younger children, the one precise youngsters onscreen — care very a lot in regards to the decorations or meals or presents Claire breaks her again to make excellent.

After some time, you begin to marvel if perhaps Claire and the assorted Clausters wouldn’t be higher aside in any case. You begin to query if Claire is a self-made martyr or if her household are a grotesquely thoughtless bunch, or if it’s each. You would possibly even get to asking whether or not the issue isn’t overworked mothers or ungrateful households however the complete establishment of the nuclear household, which evidently forces the folks trapped inside it to undergo the motions of traditions that convey them extra stress than pleasure.

Which might be an attention-grabbing course to go, if Oh. What. Fun. had the creativeness or the nerve to go there. It doesn’t. Inevitably, Claire and her household are reunited below a flurry of thankss and sorrys; predictably, the entire thing ends on a coda that reassures us everybody has come out the opposite facet extra joyful, extra loving, extra appreciative and appreciated.

It’s a cheerful ending, technically, however not one with sufficient thought or feeling behind it to actually heat the guts. As a present for Mom, Oh. What. Fun. is the equal of a flowery candle snapped up on the final minute: expensive-looking and tasteful, wholly unobjectionable and disappointingly generic.