There are a lot of things I like about Christmas. One is that it gives television stations the chance to run 5,000 third-rate movies in the span of a month. It amazes how they make it to the air. They all have the same agenda: to peddle cheap sentiment and sappy lessons under the umbrella of the holiday spirit.
I'm fascinated by these movies because it's almost as if the public's forgiving holiday spirit extends to what's on the tube. At any other time of the year would Kathy Ireland, Tori Spelling, and Brooke Burke find work? I don't think so.
Occasionally, I summon the courage to watch more than five seconds. Recently, I couldn't stop watching 1998's "The Christmas Wish." It was solely because I was transifixed that Naomi Watts was in it. Watts, who I think is a certifiable babe, was dressed like your mom's office mates--a terrible, orange haircut that made her look like Pete Rose, and an outfit that was probably plucked from the seniors' clearance rack at Kohl's.
And if you know Watts' work ("Mulholland Drive," "21 Grams," "Funny Games") she's the last person you'd expect to be in a holiday film co-starring Debbie Reynolds and Neil Patrick Harris (before he found his snark). I felt like I had discovered forbidden footage, and that if I watched anymore reps from the Sundance Institute would barge through my front door, destroy my TV, and put a bullet in my head.
I escaped unscathed. And it served as a reminder that I must watch "Love Actually" and "White Christmas" (at the fiancee's behest) before it's too late.
P.S.--I'm not quite sure about this photo. It looks llike Watts is in the middle of her Charlie Chaplin striptease routine. Whatever...
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