Comforting, yet disturbing, the new Netflix Christmas movie starring Lindsay Lohan will give you everything you need to start this holiday season in an unsettling solace - something that Christmas is all about.

Falling for Christmas, released just a few days ago, is about a young heiress to a hotel fortune (Lohan) who lives a lavish, opulent lifestyle using her daddy's credit cards, surrounded by a herd of maids and personal assistants. Literally seconds after getting engaged on a cliff, she suffers a terrible accident as she slides down from the aforementionned cliff and loses her memory. The perfect storm for a rom-com Christmas amnesia feel-good film.

Growing up on Lindsay Lohan movies, I was not expecting an Oscar-winning performance but I would be lying if nostalgia didn't kick in and I wasn't excited to see this festive piece. I was in the perfect mood for it - no expectations, long day working and cleaning, ready to kill a few brain cells and eat an entire pizza by myself. Sadly this was not enough of a set-up. How could it be? To be fully set-up for this movie I would have to be six years old or at least have a similar cognitive capacity.

We start off with the generic ski-resort montage including some unhinged shots of people sliding down the slope. The montage gives something between hard-core winter sports shaky camera vibe and luxurious Holiday (that Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet movie) / Grand Budapest Hotel-esque winter shots. So far, so good although already here the kitsch permeates the screen from every corner.

Lindsay Lohan finally opens her beautiful eyes in a wake-up scene reminiscent of the iconic Freaky Friday morning scene. The alarm-clock on her phone announces itself as a wake-up call, tastefully and subtly hinting that Lohan's life is about to change this Christmas. We're then teleported into a swirl in the form of a phone call with her boyfriend where the entire plot is revealed to us straight away in a set of lines like: "Dad flew me in for Christmas in his private jet, I don't want to hurt his feelings". Long story short, Lohan doesn't want to run the hotel as a Vice President (a position she proclaims made-up) and she's scared to tell her dad about it. Her mother passed and her father is obsessed with taking care of her and buying her everything she wants. Her boyfriend is a closeted social media influencer. The only thing she's famous for is being the daughter of the hotel mogul and her resulting presence on social media.

The movie reminded me a lot of another meta-modern piece of art called Emily in Paris. The entire time you're not sure if someone intended for it to be the way it is or if the movie is just so rubbish that it becomes grotesquely fascinating. It's honestly hard to tell. It's like a surrealist piece of art, a grim snapshot of the artificiality that accompanies Netflix rom-coms. And don't get me wrong - rom-coms have always been kind of rubbish - a little cheesy, a little predictable, a little kitschy. But they never insulted the audience's intelligence to this extent ever before.

Within the first fifteen minutes of the movie, Lohan's boyfriend proposes to her and shortly after that they both fall off it in different directions. While Lohan gets found by a hot blond lumberjack-looking guy (Chord Overstreet, who also played Sam on Glee), her frozen boyfriend finds his way to a fisher hut. The vibe there is weirdly homoerotic, which is a passive sub-plot of the entire movie. At the end of the movie, her fiancé runs away with his assistant saying he has "better things to do".

I will not reveal more on the plot of this masterpiece not to spoil any of the plot twists, all of them disgustingly obvious from the first few minutes of the film. I highly recommend it if you want to unwind and get a hall-pass on complaining. It's a great way to project our every-day problems onto a rant about Netflix content and how bad it is. If you want to get a little angry and throw some opinions around it's definitely a must-see this holiday season.

As I learned over the years not to judge anything at its face value, let me say this last thing. The movie is filled with moments that activate a cascade of emotions in the viewer, ranging from disturbance to some sort of sick comfort that comes from a revoltingly obvious, automatic recognition of the classic and forever recurring American Christmas movie plot elements. Elements so engraved in our subconscious by a billion other American Christmas movies that they give us a weird sense of consolation and ease.

A lot of the scenes seem genuinely disturbing, in a vibe of John Waters or David Lynch movies rather than a Christmas family treat. The actions performed by the main characters just don't make sense, they don't even form a cohesive plot. Lohan throws herself into a tornado of the most predictable, cringe-inducing, Home Alone wanna-be flops, like bumping into someone and spilling coffee on herself, flipping pancakes and making them burn in the induction stove fire, dropping the entire detergent bottle into a washing machine or turning around and accidentally making fifteen pairs of skis drop to the ground. All of these seem quite normal scenes for such a film right? But somehow there is something weirdly dark about how these scenes are executed. It's as if people who never spent a regular Christmas try to act as if they did.

There is a sort of artificiality to this film that seems strange and serves as a commentary on the performativity present in a lot of pieces of media nowadays. Movies like that ten years ago still made you laugh. Nobody treated them seriously and everyone was aware that they're just cheesy comedies but we all enjoyed them to some extent. But now they become strangely perfect for ironic consumption, which is one of the main ways of media consumption among younger audiences. It's as if the movie was made to cringe at and exude a critical reaction, one that we all enjoy to have but that also sets our nervous system on fire.

So here we are, witnesses to a Christmas movie where Lindsay Lohan plays the idea that the public has of her. A soft, confused, seemingly stupid ginger girl; a privileged girl but nonetheless a girl next door. A famous girl trying to stand up for herself, to make her name matter. Alternatively, one could say that she played a mix of her previous iconic roles in films like Parent Trap, Mean Girls and Freaky Friday. I'm not sure what my verdict on this is. I'm not a fan of bullying these female actresses, now in their thirties but who started off in Hollywood as children. Back in the day we all ridiculed them, simultaneously fetishising and praising them. This sort of post-modern ironic judgement is not a chic look anymore, therefore I deeply desire to have more positive outlook on this piece of surrealist media. Hence, I will say: leave Lindsay Lohan alone and if you desire to empty your brain and hear her sing Jingle Bell Rock (sadly without Regina George and the crew but still what a blast from the past), I cordially invite you to see this avant-garde masterpiece.