‘Oh. What. Fun.’ Review: Big Stars, Bigger Sweaters, Same Old Christmas Movie.

Christmas movies are a genre unto themselves. And I don’t mean the films that accidentally become holiday classics over the decades because someone, somewhere, hung a wreath in the background. I’m talking about the movies that Hollywood rolls out every year like clockwork—films that proudly wear their Christmas branding on their foreheads, in their posters, in their titles, and across the aggressively embroidered Christmas sweaters the characters are forced to wear. It’s that minor, often maligned subgenre designed to be watched by the very families that supposedly see themselves reflected in it. Once the domain of the video store, today these movies mainly survive on streaming platforms, waiting for algorithms to gently nudge viewers into pressing play.

Which is why something like Oh. What. Fun. feels like such an oddity: an Amazon Prime Video production with a “prestige” director and a star-studded cast… all in service of yet another Christmas movie. This time, think Home Alone, but with the mom as the one who gets “left behind” on Christmas. Or, as the protagonist announces right out of the gate, a story that allegedly reframes the holiday from a woman’s perspective. “Every Christmas movie is about men,” Claire declares at the start. And the montage she provides does, regrettably, prove her point. The director of The Big Sick and screenwriter of They Came Together sets out to upend that tradition—but doesn’t exactly offer the tools to do it. What he undeniably did secure, however, is a terrific ensemble cast, which at least makes people look up from their gingerbread.

The ever-mythic Michelle Pfeiffer—still radiant, elegant, and slightly inscrutable—plays Claire, a traditional Texas mom: the kind of classic homemaker who keeps the household running, watches daytime TV, and engages in petty suburban warfare with the neighbor across the street (Joan Chen). The whole film takes place during the family Christmas gathering at her house. The group includes her husband (Denis Leary) and their visiting adult children: oldest daughter Channing (Felicity Jones), middle child Taylor (Chloë Grace Moretz), and the youngest, Sammy (Dominic Sessa). Channing’s husband (Jason Schwartzman) arrives with their two kids, and cameo appearances by Danielle Brooks, Havana Rose Liu, Maude Apatow, and Eva Longoria round out the cast.

So what actually happens? Claire obsesses over every detail of the holiday, and all she asks from her kids is a simple nomination to appear on her favorite daytime TV show—something they, of course, forget to do. To make matters worse, Channing admits they’re getting a little tired of schlepping to Mom and Dad’s place every Christmas and might make other plans next year. Layer in everyone’s personal conflicts—Channing feels unappreciated, Taylor brings home a new girlfriend every December, Sammy has just been dumped—and the general holiday chaos, and eventually Claire gets left behind during an outing. She’s no Macaulay Culkin, obviously; she’s an adult with a car. But the choices she makes are meant to be surprising, or at least “movie surprising,” setting off a string of misadventures. Meanwhile, the family begins to realize that without Mom, well, nothing really works—and nothing tastes right, either.

A modest holiday comedy from every angle, with a couple of faint chuckles and a handful of scenes that look like they were generated by an AI fed twelve generic Christmas movies, Oh. What. Fun. manages to stay afloat thanks to its cast (especially Pfeiffer, who at 67 radiates pure star power) and its underlying theme: the undervalued work of mothers who keep the whole machine running, doing all the invisible labor no one notices and everyone depends on. At times you get the sense you’re watching a parody of Christmas movies—the sweetness level is so excessive, the tropes so rigid—but no. This is the real thing.

Don’t expect a feminist comedy, either. Showalter spices up the soundtrack with cool-kid Christmas covers—St. Vincent, Sharon Van Etten, Fleet Foxes, Weyes Blood, Jeff Tweedy—but, as with all Christmas songs, swapping out the singer and the sound doesn’t magically transform the tune. They remain the same old carols underneath. And the film works the same way: prestigious actors don’t fundamentally change the formula. Claire isn’t trying to liberate herself from domestic expectations; she just wants her family to listen to her, acknowledge her, and, ideally, get her on that TV show. That’s it. And with that box checked, the movie insists, all problems will fade away.

It is Christmas, after all.