Occasionally, I find myself recovering from a mild hangover and forced to watch a Sunday Hallmark flick. Usually I’ll survive with my lunch intact if there’s Gravol handy. I suspect this is inflicted on me in retribution for having something less romantic, like “The Fall of the House of Usher”, queued up for the weekday evenings.
“Christmas turkeys” are a staple of the industry, to be sure, but this “Plane” story, and my experience this Sunday, makes me wonder if this is an unusually awful XMas for movies.
A recurring (and IMHO plausible) theme in the IMdB reviews of the truly terrible Netflix hairball “Best. Christmas. Ever!” was speculation it written using a LLM AI. The screenwriters listed are odd: one was active from 1970 to just into the 2000’s, then pops up on this and one other film, the other seems to be an author of books for kids. How this disjointed heap of wierd, drifting text got green-lit is beyond me; it made Hallmark flicks look like Shakespeare.
I suspect Orwell’s vision of fully automated romance lit has finally made it to the screen.
