By Rachel Abbott
The nights are getting longer, and drinks are beginning to shift from pumpkin to peppermint. The temperature is dipping down into cold weather (and then up, and then down again, because Texas). That can only mean one thing—the season of cheesy Hallmark-esque holiday movies is now upon us. This year, everyone who is tired of the same rehashed heteronormative storylines has a reason to rejoice! Let It Snow, which debuted on Netflix earlier in November, has an absolutely adorable queer relationship that will keep you warm during these icy months.
Based on the young adult novel by Maureen Johnson, John Green, and Lauren Myracle, Let It Snow tells the story of a small Illinois town that gets hit by a sudden snow storm on Christmas Eve. The plot interweaves several stories of friends, family, and lovers as they navigate frigid weather and Christmas-time magic. There’s a prancing popstar, a sick mother, feuding friends, a diner holiday party, and an abundance of unrequited crushes. It’s got all the makings of a light-hearted teen flick, set against a snowy backdrop to match the winter mood.
Rightfully so, the movie has garnered many comparisons to the Christmas classic Love, Actually, which set the bar for all holiday rom-coms thereafter. The two films match in their criss-crossing plotlines and their central narrative on the power of love—platonic, familiar, and, above all, romantic. However, where Let It Snow excels (and seemingly every other holiday movie has failed) is in providing a cute queer romance alongside the sea of straight loves. The tender, youthful pining between Dorrie and Kerry lets queer viewers, for the first time, see themselves as part of the Christmas magic.
The movie begins with Dorrie, a funny and down-to-earth young waitress, showing a picture of the cute girl she likes to her best friend. But her on-and-off crush, Kerry, an ultra-feminine and popular girl on the dance team, puts on a disinterested front around her friends while still romancing Dorrie in private. The two end up trapped in the diner together during the Christmas Eve snowstorm, and tension simmers with a classic will-they-won’t-they plot. It’s a trite but realistic trope: the out and proud, hopelessly fallen for her closeted counterpart. Will holiday magic be strong enough to pull them together? You’ll have to watch the movie to find out.
In truth, the Dorrie/Kerry romance isn’t the only trope-ish part of the movie. Like any holiday movie, it’s chock-full of them. There’s an awkward non-denominational holiday play. There’s a parent with a mysterious, undefined sickness. Two characters sing to each other over a church organ in a song that somehow is the perfect metaphor for their tense relationship. A cinematic Oscar-grab Let It Snow is not.
However, that’s part of the appeal. When we talk about queer representation in film and TV, the landmark movies tend to be long, painful affairs of drama, trauma, outing, and more. Let It Snow is exceptional precisely because it’s so banal. This movie lets a couple of young queer girls take part in completely cheesy holiday rom-com goodness. It lets their story join in the fold of half a dozen other tales of love. It’s the casual and fun queer representation that young people need and deserve, and I absolutely adored every second of it.
The movie closes with these words:
See? Didn’t I tell you? Sometimes snow can make a difference, especially at Christmas Eve. And sometimes, it’s not just the Eve of Christmas. It’s the eve of everything—of the rest of your life.
This quote taps into the spirit of both good Christmas movies and good teen movies. There’s a lot of overlap in those two genres: a belief in the power of love, the potentiality of change, and a fierce fondness for the people around you. Viewers of all ages will find themselves smiling at that last monologue. After all, our own Christmas Eve waits just around the corner. We could all use a bit of that holiday magic and bravery—to chase after the person we love with the hope that we can run out of the closet and into a beautiful new year. Happy holigays indeed.
