Christmas is far from my favourite holiday – some have even called me a Grinch, but really, I just grew up in a non-religious Asian family that doesn’t take Christmas that seriously. Sure, we’ll put a tree up, but the wrapped presents under that tree are empty. Nobody sits in the living room on Christmas morning, breathlessly ripping apart boxes to see what we’ve surprised each other with. We’re more likely to tell each other exactly what we want and pass them off the day they get delivered. Easy peasy. Christmas is more an excuse for us to get drunk with our friends than it is a celebration of anything in particular.
We don’t take part in the typical Christmas rituals, but that doesn’t mean that we haven’t made our own over the years. The huge end-of-year rager my parents throw is a kind of ritual, where we invite everybody we love to dip into our wine reserves and pass out on the sofa. Those are fun, but the older I get, the more likely it is that my friends have their own parties to attend and family obligations. They might be with siblings who only come back for the holidays, or attending midnight mass (I have a lot of Catholic friends). Since Christmas isn’t a special day for me, and I don’t like getting drunk as much anymore, I’m happy to just lie in bed and watch a movie alone.
This isn’t a set ritual with rigid rules, since whether or not I have plans varies by the year. But 2023 is the second in a row that my friends (even the non-religious ones) have all decided to go to midnight mass, and I’ve opted to sit out again. Last year, while my friends sent me recordings of the church choir performing beautiful Christmas songs, I watched one of my favourite discomfiting movies: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia. I also unintentionally watched the terrifying last scene right as midnight struck, which is a hell of a way to welcome in the Christmas spirit.
More discomfiting than the film is that I only learned about the allegations of abuse that Bjork made against von Trier earlier this year. I still enjoy his films, obviously, but I won’t be streaming them for the foreseeable future since that puts money into his pocket.
One year does not a ritual make, but I’ve been doing this on and off since I was a child without even realising it. Growing up an introvert with extroverted parents meant I was prone to slinking off in the middle of parties to find some peace and quiet. In the years before streaming, this usually meant walking out of the house and wandering the neighbourhood, looking into people’s houses.
Once we got a Netflix subscription, I started beating quiet but hasty retreats into my bedroom to watch whatever film struck my fancy, and my choices started to get more and more outlandish – I believe I watched The Human Centipede for the first time on one of these fateful Christmas Eves. The holidays are all about coming together, after all.
I haven’t decided yet what I’ll watch this year, but whatever it is, it’s going to be the kind of film that probably makes me feel queasy and stressed out, without the words to verbalise exactly why. I will watch it in bed, peacefully, alone, and then I will go to sleep. And that will be a perfect Christmas Eve for me.
