After yesterday’s dabble with horror, we’re back to the Netflix Christmas romcom reviews I’m afraid! I have now watched Meet Me Next Christmas from start to finish, fuelled primarily by wine. I am now ready to share my opinion.
The premise is simple and a little weird.
Layla, played by early noughties R&B singer Christina Milian, is at the airport on Christmas Eve. All flights are cancelled so she wangles herself lounge access, where she heads straight to the buffet like a boss. She finds herself behind a pleasant man who tells her to put sriracha on her quiche (not a euphemism) and accidentally drops a ramekin in her bag without realising.
Sat with her plate of food, she meets a smooth stranger called James. They flirt. She plays him some of her favourite music – the American a cappella group Pentatonix. Incidentally I’d never heard of them up until last week, which feels spooky.
James’ flight is called, and he asks her out, but oh no! She has a boyfriend. He’s a persistent chap and they agree that, if she is single this time next year, they will meet again at a Pentatonix Christmas Eve concert, that may not even exist yet. They do not exchange phone numbers or add each other on Facebook. They do not help fate along in any way whatsoever.
This is not romance. This is poor planning.
Layla goes home to her boyfriend, who roughly 11 months and three weeks later finally reveals himself to be a horrible cheat.
A little earlier than most people would probably be comfortable with, she starts thinking about James, cannot find him online, and pins her entire emotional future on attending a concert that she doesn’t have tickets for.
Enter Teddy, a concierge/fix-it man whose job – to do whatever his clients demand of him – is on the line. He turns up in the universal Christmas romcom uniform of a plaid shirt to get her those tickets. He recognises her, but where from? ‘He was the first guy from the airport, dummies!’ we shout at the TV.
From here, the film becomes a festive obstacle course of increasingly deranged attempts to secure Pentatonix tickets.
There is a scammer in a dive bar. Pepper spray is deployed incorrectly. A necklace and $500 disappears.
There is a creepy rich couple who demand a Chanel bag in exchange for a ticket. Attempts to secure one involve a long queue (bonding time), a rude woman put firmly in her place, and a sob story involving a nearly-dead wife. The tickets are always just out of reach.
There is a pair of tickets up for grabs, if Layla and Teddy can win the dance competition at the camp-as-fuck Snow Ball. They perform a rap version of Santa Baby that should not exist. Layla and Teddy kiss on stage in front of an audience of voyeurs who fucking love it. They come second to drag queen icon Priyanka, as they should.
No tickets for them. Again.
Throughout all of this, Layla remains fully convinced that a man she spoke to for twenty minutes a year ago is her destiny, despite only having been single for approximately four days.
Teddy, meanwhile, is cooking for her, supporting her emotionally, revealing a tragic backstory involving his sick mum, and a lost chef career. She recognises his ramekins. OMG, he’s the OTHER airport guy! I cannot predict how this will go at all.
Did I mention that Teddy has been begging for tickets everywhere (as his job would demand) and one of said contacts is literally their tour manager?
Pentatonix are watching. Always watching. Shame they have no spare tickets.
Eventually, someone cancels and Pentatonix send Teddy a spare ticket; they have decided they’re invested in Layla’s life. But, having watched along via text, they’re not convinced James is the man for her.
Teddy somehow gets invited to play Santa at their gig.
The gig itself is really small given how big this band appear to be. No wonder the tickets were as rare as rocking horse shit.
So to recap: We have Teddy inside about to deliver a speech dressed as Santa, and James standing outside clutching flowers. OMG.
Layla pulls up near the eerily deserted venue in a taxi, runs to the venue, and bumps into James – who she apologises to before running off. Predictably, it emerges he is actually there to meet someone else who is also late. That could have been so awks.
The mean bald doorman won’t let her backstage. She runs in to the main entrance just as everyone is assuming Teddy’s proclamations of love are unrequited. They kiss. Pentatonix cheer and do another harmonious Christmas song which you can absolutely stream on Spotify.
And here is the thing I am ashamed to admit.
I liked it.
It makes no sense. Layla is a recently scorned woman; she’s essentially baby bird, ready to imprint on the nearest emotionally competent man and it probably wouldn’t even matter who that was. If I were a therapist I’d be advising at least 6 months of self-reflection/shagging everything that moved to get it out of her system (I didn’t say I’d be a good therapist).
That aside, Teddy is cute, Layla is sweet. There are drag queens. This film is warm, glossy, earnest, and – despite being just one long promotion for Pentatonix, a band who will never grab my interest – somehow less offensive than many recent Christmas films.
Rating: 7/10. I cannot defend this score logically, emotionally, or morally. But there it is. Happily ever after, maybe. In harmony.
If you enjoyed this and you’re feeling generous, you can buy me a cup of tea or a glass of wine – or donate to my houseplant addiction fund – here.
You can also see my Amazon wish list here.