Christmas Wrath: A Gritty Hallmark Holiday Movie Reboot
The Big Apple. Christmas Eve. Dirty snow. Yuppies walk the streets, pointing and laughing at homeless people. Rats are eating a Bloomingdale’s holiday display. Random man on a street corner is shooting a handgun into the air while laughing/screaming — no-one reacts.
COOKIE, a high-powered career woman, JOSEPH, her coworker/gay best friend, and their BOSS are working on Christmas Eve because godlessness.
COOKIE: Ugh, I hate Christmas. Also I haven’t gotten laid in weeks because I’m a feminist.
BOSS: Cookie, you are fired for being too good at your job. I’m going to visit a prostitute now. (leaves)
JOSEPH: Too bad about being fired, Cookie. At least now you have time to visit your folks!
COOKIE: (checking email) Oh shit, my parents just died in an unfortunate reindeer farm accident and left me their Christmas-themed B&B.
JOSEPH: Girl, let’s go to New England and get us some country dick!
Cut to rental car. COOKIE (driver) and JOSEPH (passenger) are alternately squinting at their GPS set for “Christmas Wreath, New England” and then out into the snow-ravaged countryside. A vaporwave cover of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” plays on the radio.
The town sign “Welcome to Christmas Wreath” has been defaced to read “cum to Christmas Wrath.” Once-charming stores display broken ornaments and “For Lease/Rent” signs. Dead vintage cars rust under snowdrifts. Tumbleweeds of tinsel roll across the road.
COOKIE and JOSEPH exit car, enter a combination artisanal candy shop/AMAZING adult superstore.
PROPRIETOR is watching “Russian Hoes + American Cucks 7” on the store’s flatscreen while popping taffy candies into his mouth. A screamo rendition of “White Christmas” is playing over the intercom.
JOSEPH: This is SO cute, you never see these kinds of shops anymore! (To PROPRIETOR) Is that a cruising spot behind the Turkish delight?
COOKIE: We need to know what happened to our adorable hometown. Also, I want to acknowledge that you are black.
PROPRIETOR: Yes, I’m the only black person with a speaking part in this movie. My role is to tell you white people that ever since the candy factory shut down, Christmas Wreath has fallen on hard times. Property values are in the toilet. The only reason I’m making ends meet with a porno shop is because most of the townsfolk think the internet is witchcraft — the last Comcast repairman who stopped by here got burnt at the stake.
COOKIE: Oh no, what am I going to do with my parents’ B&B? This is the worst Christmas ever!
PROPRIETOR: Can I interest you in some handcrafted chocolate truffles shaped like Stoya’s butthole?
COOKIE stomps into the “Hentai” section, runs straight into SHEPARD, her blandly handsome old high school boyfriend. Startled, SHEPARD drops the “I Dream of Fish Pussy” DVD he was holding.
COOKIE: Oh Shep, it’s been so long. You haven’t changed a bit!
SHEPARD: I heard about your folks’ brutal demise at the reindeer farm — does this mean you’re moving back to Christmas Wreath?
COOKIE: Hahaha — as if I could be happy HERE after experiencing champagne orgies and quail egg omelettes from Seamless!
SHEPARD: Stick around, Cookie — you might just change your city slicker mind.
JOSEPH: (pops head around corner) Let’s split, kiddies — I just got a beej from someone named Toothless Jack, and I am NOT interested in Round 2.
TOOTHLESS JACK: (hoarse voice from behind the Turkish delight display) Let… me… love… you…
Cut to Christmas Wreath B&B. COOKIE, JOSEPH, and SHEPARD find the front door locked with no key under the mat. SHEPARD pops open the lock with his Leatherman. COOKIE marvels at SHEPARD’S manly B&E skills.
COOKIE: Is there a woman in your life?
SHEPARD’S phone buzzes. He types a reply, then smiles at COOKIE.
SHEPARD: Not anymore.
COOKIE, SHEPARD, and JOSEPH enter B&B. Front hallway is littered with old Christmas debris. A grindcore version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” plays in a distant room.
JOSEPH: This place smells like cat piss.
UNKNOWN: (booming voice from another room) Do I hear naughty children?
UNKNOWN enters hallway — a scary-looking fat man with a full white beard, wearing a ratty Santa Claus suit.
COOKIE: Uncle Gerry?
SHEPARD: Big Poppa Bearclaw?
JOSEPH: Excuse me, who is this hobo, and why does he look like Santa and smell like cheese?
SHEPARD: That’s Big Poppa Bearclaw — head of the Bearclaw Bikers.
COOKIE: AKA my ne’er-do-well Uncle Gerry!
SHEPARD: Big Poppa was our Macy’s Santa Claus for 23 years. After the Macy’s shut down, he’s never taken off the Santa suit.
COOKIE: Uncle Gerry, my parents forbid you to set foot in this house after you tried to turn this place into a turkey-fighting gambling den!
THE BEARCLAWS BIKERS emerge from the basement, wearing surgical masks and latex gloves.
BIG POPPA BEARCLAW: Well, Cookie, your parents aren’t around anymore to stop me, not after their (wiggles fingers) “accident.” But me and the boys are beyond bird-fighting now — we are moving our thriving meth lab into this house!
JOSEPH: I knew I smelled cat piss!
COOKIE: You’ll be hearing from my attorney, Uncle Gerry!
SHEPARD: (checking wristwatch) No time for lawyers this holiday season!
SHEPARD whips out a Colt AR-15 and blasts away BIG POPPA BEARCLAW and THE BEARCLAW BIKERS in a hail of bullets.
COOKIE: Goddamn it, Shep, how are we going to explain this to the cops?!?
SHEPARD: Watch.
A car screeches to a halt outside. SHEPARD calls 911.
SHEPARD: Operator, we’re at the Christmas Wreath B&B, there’s an active shooter, send help!
SHEPARD places the Colt AR-15 on the floor and scoots it to the threshold. Seconds later, a red-faced WOMAN in curlers with a sobbing CHILD on her hip bursts into the hallway.
WOMAN: Get away from my husband, you big city slut!
COOKIE: Brenda O’Malley? (to SHEPARD) Brenda from Dairy Queen, really?
BRENDA puts down CHILD and picks up the Colt AR-15, pointing it at Cookie.
BRENDA: You are a dead woman, Cookie!
BRENDA squeezes the trigger — the clip is empty.
THE POLICE bust in, disarm BRENDA and handcuff her.
BRENDA: (as THE POLICE drag her away) SEE YOU IN HELL, COOKIE!
Spotting mistletoe in the drawing room’s entryway, SHEPARD pulls COOKIE under it and kisses her passionately. CHILD wails louder.
COOKIE: Fuck, I’m a mom now. (Chucks phone out the front door into the snow.)
SHEPARD: Did I mention that I used to be the second-biggest meth dealer in Christmas Wreath?
COOKIE: And now?
SHEPARD pulls out a little box with a red bow on top. COOKIE opens it — inside is white powder and two tiny candy-striped straws.
SHEPARD: (smiling at the dead body of BIG POPPA BEARCLAW) Well, I guess I’m the biggest one now.
COOKIE: Oh Shep, fill me with the Christmas spirit!
COOKIE and SHEPARD each snort a bump of powder.
JOSEPH: (happy-crying) It’s a miracle — my best friend finding a real man on Christmas! If only we all could be so lucky!
TOOTHLESS JACK: (knocks, enters) I saw the flashing lights and thought this was the holiday underground rave.
JOSEPH: (sighs, breaks the 4th wall) Guess I’m on the hook for Round 2!
A neurofunk “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” intermingles with CHILD’S weeping while meth-smeared COOKIE and SHEPARD bang under mistletoe.
THE END
