Snowflakes dance lazily outside the frosted windows of a cozy cabin in the fictional town of Winterlight, Vermont—a place so perfectly picturesque it feels like it was plucked straight from a holiday catalog, all twinkling lights strung across cobblestone streets and evergreen boughs heavy with fresh powder. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of cinnamon and pine, a crackling fire casting golden flickers across faces flushed with laughter, awkward silences, and the kind of unspoken tension that simmers just beneath the surface of a family on the brink of unraveling. This is the world of A Merry Little Ex-Mas, Netflix’s latest festive foray into the rom-com realm, which hit the streaming service like a perfectly wrapped gift on November 12, 2025. Directed by Steve Carr with a script by Holly Hester, the film clocks in at a breezy 98 minutes of heartwarming hijinks, heartfelt confessions, and enough holiday cheer to thaw even the frostiest divorce proceedings. If you’re hunting for that first cinematic sip of seasonal spirit—the one that kicks off eggnog toasts and playlist marathons—this is your golden ticket. But beware: beneath the mistletoe and mulled wine lies a story that tugs at your heartstrings while tickling your funny bone, proving once again that the holidays have a way of turning exes into unexpected allies.

At its core, A Merry Little Ex-Mas is a tale of tangled tinsel and tender reconciliations, the kind of narrative that feels tailor-made for those chilly evenings when the world outside your window is a blur of white and you crave something warm to curl up with. Alicia Silverstone stars as Kate Holmes, a 42-year-old architect-turned-homemaker whose life has been a series of sacrifices wrapped in the pretty paper of small-town domesticity. Once a rising star in Boston’s competitive design scene, Kate traded blueprints for bedtime stories when she fell for Everett (Oliver Hudson), a charming small-town doctor whose roots in Winterlight ran deeper than the roots of the town’s ancient oaks. For 15 years, she’s been the glue holding their family together—renovating their sprawling Victorian home (affectionately dubbed “The Mothership” by their kids), shuttling teenagers to hockey practice, and suppressing the quiet ache of her deferred dreams. But as the film opens with an animated montage that’s equal parts whimsical and wistful, we see the cracks forming: arguments over unfinished holiday lights, Kate sketching unbuilt high-rises in the margins of grocery lists, and a divorce filing that’s as inevitable as the first snowfall.

The inciting chaos arrives like an uninvited guest at a cookie swap: Everett shows up at The Mothership not alone, but with his new girlfriend, April (Melissa Joan Hart), a bubbly life coach whose Instagram-perfect life screams “manifest your miracles” from every pore. Kate, ever the picture of poised perfection, has orchestrated what she envisions as their “last perfect Christmas”—a final hurrah for the sake of their two teens: 17-year-old Gabriel (Wilder Hudson, Oliver’s real-life son making his screen debut with a natural ease that steals every scene he’s in) and 14-year-old Sienna (Emily Hall, a fresh-faced talent whose wide-eyed wonder grounds the film’s emotional core). The plan? One week of forced festivity: tree-trimming, caroling, ice-skating on the frozen pond behind the house, all under the same roof to shield the kids from the fallout of their parents’ split. But when April breezes in with her essential oils and empowerment seminars, the delicate balance tips, transforming the holiday into a powder keg of passive-aggressive pleasantries and laugh-out-loud mishaps.

From the moment April arrives, arms laden with artisanal advent calendars and a yoga mat for “gratitude circles,” the film dives headfirst into the delicious discomfort of co-parenting gone comically awry. Imagine the scene: Kate, elbow-deep in pie crust, forcing a smile as April suggests “reframing the divorce as a phoenix rising”—all while Everett hovers in the doorway, his boyish grin masking the guilt gnawing at his edges. The dialogue crackles with that signature rom-com wit, Hester’s script peppering lines with zingers that land like snowballs to the face. “Winterlight isn’t a town,” Kate quips early on, surveying the main street’s garish holiday displays, “it’s like he grew up in a Yankee Candle.” April, undeterred, counters with, “Or a manifestation board—everything you dream, right here in twinkly lights.” It’s this banter that elevates the film beyond the genre’s predictable pitfalls, blending sharp satire of wellness culture with the genuine ache of letting go.

As the days blur into a whirlwind of holiday hijinks, the ensemble cast shines like ornaments on a fully loaded tree. Oliver Hudson, channeling the easygoing charm that made him a standout in Rules of Engagement and Scream Queens, imbues Everett with a layered vulnerability—he’s not the villainous ex, but a man fumbling through his own regrets, his one-liners delivered with impeccable timing that elicits groans and guffaws in equal measure. “I thought bringing April would make this easier,” he confesses to Kate over a midnight mug of spiked cocoa, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Turns out, it’s like adding sprinkles to a fruitcake—no one asked for it, but now it’s everywhere.” His chemistry with Silverstone is the film’s secret sauce, a slow-burn spark that reignites old flames without ever feeling forced. Silverstone, radiant at 49 and drawing on her Clueless legacy of navigating social minefields with wry intelligence, anchors the chaos as Kate. Her performance is a masterclass in understated power: the way her jaw tightens when April suggests a “cord-cutting ceremony” to release marital baggage, or the quiet joy that flickers across her face during a spontaneous snowball fight with the kids. It’s a role that allows her to flex both comedic chops and dramatic depth, reminding audiences why she remains one of Hollywood’s most versatile leading ladies.

The supporting players add layers of levity and heart that keep the story from tipping into melodrama. Melissa Joan Hart, the undisputed queen of ’90s nostalgia with her Sabrina the Teenage Witch spellbinding legacy, is a revelation as April—not a caricature of the “perfect” other woman, but a genuinely well-intentioned force of nature whose earnest enthusiasm clashes hilariously with Kate’s cynicism. Hart’s timing is impeccable; watch her attempt a group meditation in the living room, only for Gabriel to interrupt with a deadpan, “Mom, is this the part where we summon demons or just bad vibes?” Jameela Jamil brings her signature blend of poise and punch—honed in The Good Place and She-Hulk—as Sloane, Kate’s glamorous best friend and a high-powered NYC executive who swoops in for a weekend getaway, dispensing TED Talk wisdom laced with gin. “Darling,” she drawls over a video call, her British accent slicing through the small-town saccharine, “divorce isn’t the end—it’s the intermission. And honey, your encore’s going to be fabulous.” Pierson Fodé rounds out the comic relief as Chet, April’s dim-witted but endearing brother who’s equal parts handyman and hot mess, his bumbling attempts at fixing The Mothership’s leaky roof leading to one of the film’s gut-bustingly funny set pieces: a chandelier crash that douses the dinner table in eggnog.

The younger cast members deserve their own spotlight, injecting fresh energy into the proceedings. Wilder Hudson, Oliver’s 18-year-old son stepping into acting with zero prior experience, plays Gabriel with a raw authenticity that feels worlds away from the polished teen archetypes of yesteryear. “He’s not your typical teenage actor,” Oliver told The Los Angeles Times in a recent interview, his pride palpable. “This kid is real—he’s not jaded or tainted by anything yet. Netflix took a chance on him, and it paid off.” As the sullen teen grappling with his parents’ split, Wilder nails the quiet rebellion: eye-rolls at April’s affirmations, heartfelt late-night talks with Kate about chasing dreams, and a pivotal scene where he confesses his fear of the family fracturing forever. Emily Hall, as 14-year-old Sienna, brings a wide-eyed innocence that’s both heartbreaking and hopeful; her character’s obsession with restoring an old family sled becomes a metaphor for piecing together what’s broken, culminating in a sleigh ride through the woods that’s as visually stunning as it is emotionally resonant.

What sets A Merry Little Ex-Mas apart in Netflix’s overflowing holiday hopper isn’t just the star power or the snappy script—it’s the way it leans into the messiness of modern family dynamics without shying away from the laughs. Directed by Steve Carr, whose family-friendly touch is evident in everything from the vibrant cinematography (those sweeping drone shots of Winterlight blanketed in snow are pure postcard perfection) to the soundtrack’s eclectic mix of classics like “Jingle Bells” reimagined with indie folk twists and originals penned by rising Nashville songbird Kacey Musgraves, the film strikes a balance that’s as cozy as a cable-knit sweater. The production design is a feast for the eyes: The Mothership’s interior, with its mismatched ornaments and heirloom stockings, feels lived-in and loved, while the exterior—strings of lights twinkling against the night sky—evokes that nostalgic glow of childhood Christmases past. Hester’s screenplay, drawing from her own experiences as a divorced mom, infuses the proceedings with authenticity; there’s no tidy villain here, no cartoonish ex or meddling matchmaker. Instead, it’s a portrait of people fumbling toward forgiveness, where the real magic happens not in grand gestures, but in small ones—like Kate and Everett teaming up to save the town’s failing holiday fair, their hands brushing over a tangled string of lights in a moment that’s equal parts electric and everyday.

Of course, no rom-com is complete without its share of tropes, and A Merry Little Ex-Mas embraces them with a wink and a nod. The “one last dance” at the town Christmas party, where Kate and Everett sway to a slowed-down cover of “Last Christmas” under a canopy of mistletoe, is pure genre gold—cheesy enough to elicit an eye-roll, heartfelt enough to bring a tear. But the film subverts expectations too: April isn’t the antagonist; she’s the catalyst, her unfiltered optimism forcing Kate to confront her own bitterness. In one standout sequence, the women bond over a disastrous attempt at gingerbread house construction, their laughter dissolving into a raw conversation about starting over. “I thought I had it all figured out,” Kate admits, her voice cracking as frosting smears her cheek. “But maybe the blueprint was wrong from the start.” Hart’s April, dropping her guru facade for a moment of vulnerability, replies, “Or maybe it’s just time for renovations.” It’s these beats that elevate the film from frothy fare to something more nourishing, a reminder that the holidays aren’t about perfection—they’re about presence.

Critics have warmed to the film’s charms, with Collider calling it “a perfectly cozy Netflix holiday comedy” that “champions stronger, more understanding relationships without losing its entertainment factor.” The Guardian notes its “admirable ambition” in tackling thwarted dreams, though it quibbles with a “disappointing cop-out ending” that opts for reconciliation over reinvention—fair, perhaps, but in a genre built on happy endings, it’s a forgivable sin. What’s on Netflix praises its “90s Christmas nostalgia trip,” highlighting Silverstone’s effortless star power and the ensemble’s “cheat code” chemistry. Audience scores on IMDb hover at a solid 5.4, with fans raving about the “extra funny, extra enjoyable, extra X-mas” vibe courtesy of standouts like Jamil and Fodé. One reviewer summed it up best: “It’s exactly what you expect from a Netflix Christmas film: nothing Oscar-worthy, but totally feel-good.”

Yet what truly makes A Merry Little Ex-Mas a must-watch kickoff to your holiday binge is its unapologetic embrace of joy amid the jingle. In a year when the world feels a little heavier—global headlines screaming division, personal lives tangled in their own tinsel—the film offers a gentle nudge: gather ’round, awkward exes and all, because the season’s true gift is the mess we make together. Stream it now, pop some popcorn, and let the vibes roll. Your heart (and your holiday playlist) will thank you.

As the credits roll over a final shot of The Mothership aglow against the starry Vermont sky, with faint laughter echoing from within, you’re left with that warm, fuzzy afterglow—the kind that lingers like the scent of pine needles on your sweater. A Merry Little Ex-Mas isn’t reinventing the wheel; it’s polishing it to a high shine, reminding us why we return to these stories year after year. For families navigating their own “last Christmases,” for friends toasting to fresh starts, or for solo viewers seeking a hug in cinematic form, this rom-com is the perfect stocking stuffer. Hit play, dim the lights, and let Winterlight work its magic. The holidays are here, and so is your next favorite tradition.