Bumbling, overstuffed, and set in the middle-class fantasy world of Richard Curtis, Love Actually is an uneven ensemble romantic comedy that frequently appears on lists of the top Christmas movies. It had me suckered for a long time, even landing on my own list of favorite Christmas movies—but then I stopped to give the film some more thought.

It’s a very easy film not to think about. It slips down so easily, built on the stammering charms of Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, and the jolly-hockey sticks enthusiasm of Emma Thompson. It has a great cast of established actors as well as up-and-coming ones, a twinkly Christmas setting, and an upbeat pop soundtrack. The problem is, the film doesn’t hold up to any scrutiny—it’s a terrible Christmas movie, and has some pretty cynical things to say about relationships. For a film that could also be described as a chick flick, it also has a rather repellent attitude towards women.

Many Christmas films follow a basic template—the protagonist (usually male) needs to overcome either a spiritual or physical challenge, otherwise Christmas is off. Die Hard‘s John McLane (Bruce Willis) overcomes a physical challenge, before reuniting with his wife and kids. Bad Santa‘s Willie T Soke (Billy Bob Thornton) may be an alcoholic, safe-cracking store santa, but even he encounters a Scrooge-like change of heart, and finds redemption in his highly dysfunctional but loving surrogate family.

But if you carefully examine the storylines in Love Actually, you’ll realise that it’s almost a counter-Christmas movie. Christmas is a time for giving and for family, whereas in Love Actually it’s a time for ignoring your family and chasing girls half your age. For most in men in the film, their only challenge is a personal one of self-gratification.

First, there’s dishy Prime Minister David (Grant), who instantly falls in love with Natalie (Martine McCutcheon), the film’s token working class person. They seal the deal with a cheeky snog backstage at David’s niece and nephew’s nativity play. But David isn’t there for the performance—it’s just sheer chance, and he has an awkward moment with his sister Karen (Thompson), who mistakenly thinks her brother’s there for the children. Fat chance, he’s just chasing a girl.

Then there’s Jamie (Firth), who buggers off to France after his wife cheats on him, only to fall for his Portuguese maid Aurélia (Lucia Moniz). He’s a bit sniffy towards her at first, and they don’t speak a word of each other’s language. But as soon as he catches sight of her in bra and panties, he’s head over heels. He ditches his family on Christmas Eve so he can fly back and declare his love to her.

Of all Love Actually‘s stories, the only one that follows a traditional Christmas movie arc is the one with Billy Mack (Bill Nighy). He’s the first character we meet after Hugh Grant’s touchy-feely opening monologue, a washed up rock and roller shamelessly aiming for one last shot at the big time, with a drossy cover of “Love is All Around”. Curtis can’t stop referencing the song in the first few minutes of Love Actually, since it was Wet Wet Wet’s mega-hit from Four Weddings and a Funeral. The twist is, it’s now called “Christmas is All Around”, and there’s fun to be had from the way Nighy shoehorns in those extra couple of syllables on the chorus.

Despite the best efforts of Nighy, Love Actually fails as a Christmas movie. It doesn’t really resemble one in terms of structure, and it has such a selfish message at heart. The film is also very cynical about relationships and women. Although billed as the “ultimate romantic comedy”, Curtis takes a strange stance on relationships in this film. On one hand, he’s all googly eyed and innocent, smitten with the idea of love at first sight; on the other he’s like Buddy Love, lascivious and skirt-chasing.

I have no problem accepting the notion of “love at first sight” in films. I was totally on board when Michael Corleone was hit by the thunderbolt in The Godfather, falling instantly in love with Apollonia. Don’t even get me started on Leo DiCaprio and Claire Daines doing their coochy-coo faces through the fish tank in Romeo and Juliet—loved it.

Love Actually seems to suggest that the moment you turn your back, your partner will be hopping into bed with someone else. This fate befalls Jamie, cuckolded by his wife, and Harry (Alan Rickman) and Karen’s marriage is clearly damaged by Harry’s ill-advised flirtation with Mia (Heike Makatsch). Even hunky, handsome Chiwetel Ejiofor isn’t immune. Having just married the gorgeous Juliet (Keira Knightley), he isn’t aware that his Best Man Mark (Andrew Lincoln) is hopelessly in love with her, and spent their whole wedding obsessively filming close ups of her smiling face. If that wasn’t enough, he shows up on their doorstep on Christmas Eve, posing as carol singers and declaring his love to her with some cue cards, in the manner of Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues”.

Juliet’s actions in this segment are pretty despicable, which brings us to the subject of how women are portrayed in Love Actually. Most barely register as characters. Many are either prizes to be won, floozies, or too over-the-hill to be attractive anymore. Things are way rosier if you’re a bloke in Love Actually. If your wife cheats on you, dies, or gets a bit old and knackered, don’t worry because there’s always some young bit of crumpet waiting around the corner for you. And while there is a long-standing tradition in Hollywood where older men play opposite young, attractive actresses in films, but Love Actually really pushes the envelope. Alan Rickman and Heike Makatsch, Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon, Colin Firth and Lucia Moniz, Liam Neeson and Claudia Schiffer—all these match ups felt highly implausible.

The objectification of women is most evident in the film’s most risible storyline, that of Colin (Kris Marshall), a hollow-eyed creep who’s poison with the ladies. He treats himself to a ticket to Milwaukee because he’s heard American birds get turned on by an English accent. Of course, in the world of Love Actually, he’s able to rock up in a dive bar and stumble upon a trio of hotties instantly seduced by the way he speaks. A foursome follows, soon to be a quintet when Denise Richards gets back home.

All this goes against what we normally expect from Christmas movies, which usually reinforce the virtues of self-sacrifice, open-mindedness and the pleasures of family life. While there is nothing wrong with skirting genre expectations, Love Actually is filled with bogus Christmas cheer. In fact it preaches the opposite—screw your family, chase the girl, and look after your own best interests.

If over the holidays the doorbell rings and your significant other tells you that it’s carol singers, maybe go see for yourself. Just in case…

The success of John Madden’s The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, the 2011 phenomenon that brought together a veritable dream team of England’s finest actors, can be easily measured by taking a look at the long, twisty lines that will undoubtedly form for the film’s sequel, The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, at multiplexes across the country this weekend. Unfortunately, I anticipate that many will view the sequel as inferior because it’s a decidedly more easy-going, low-stakes affair than its predecessor. I don’t think it trumps the first film as the best of the two, but I also don’t find it fair to glibly criticize it as “second best”, either. Rather, the two films complement each other well and share a comfortable co-existence.

While Best Exotic is a more dramatically textured film, but Second Best Exotic is just as textured, only comedically. Now that the residents of the Jaipur, India hotel have settled into their once-unfamiliar surroundings (the culture-clash elements from the first movie are all but gone), their problems are less urgent, though no less compelling. Cockney sh*t-talker Muriel (Maggie Smith), a one-time racist curmudgeon, has now matured and calmed down a smidge, though her barbs are as sharp as ever. She’s outwardly resigned herself to the fact that she may not have much time left in this world, though subconsciously she just might be hoping the future holds something glorious for her. Douglas (Bill Nighy) and Evelyn (Judi Dench) want to be more than just friends, but struggle to express their affection for one another, the return of Douglas’ estranged, bitter wife Jean (Penelope Wilton) complicating things further.

Sitting proudly at the center of the film is Sonny (a top-form Dev Patel), the hotel’s neurotic, entrepreneurial co-manager (alongside Muriel), whose impending marriage to the effervescent Sunaina (Tina Desai) serves as the film’s main thrust. Sonny’s ambitious plans to open a second hotel have taken his mind off of the wedding, unsurprisingly driving away his beautiful bride-to-be. What’s worse, he fears Sunaina’s handsome family friend Kushal (Shazad Latif) may be in prime position to steal away his beloved. None of the film’s myriad storylines think outside the box, but the cast’s brilliant performances elevate the material. Patel is especially impressive, his comedic timing as sharp as anyone else’s, if not sharper.

The needle in the film’s side is the sheer number of storylines going on all at once. Returning to the fold is horny Norman (Ronald Pickup), who’s traded in his perv card for a loyalty badge, fully committed to his lover Carol (Diana Hardcastle), who he suspects may not be as devoted to the relationship. Celia Imrie’s love-hungry Madge is back, too, this time caught in the crossed gazes of two wealthy suitors. On top of all that, Richard Gere and Tamsin Greig join the ensemble as new residents, the former’s novelist character setting his sights on Sonny’s mom, reprised by Lillete Dubey. There’s a lot to keep track of, and some of the storylines get lost in such crowded company.

Everything else about the film is perfectly approachable and appealing, though. It’s a charming, sweet film, but not a saccharine one. Best of all, the veteran actors get to flaunt some new colors. Nighy gets to stretch out further comedically this time around; Douglas has taken on a job as a tour guide, hiring a young boy to feed him historical information through an ear piece. When the boy abandons his post to play soccer with his friends, the clueless Douglas is left to nervously spout unintelligible rubbish in front of the skeptical tourists (Nighy’s squirming is hilarious). Smith’s signature brash insults are actually funnier in this film, like when she flatly informs someone that, just because she’s looking at her, that doesn’t mean she’s paying attention to what she’s saying.

What’s particularly refreshing about spending time with the aging eccentrics for a second time is that we don’t have to trifle with the tired fish-out-of-water theme that drove the first film. The juxtaposition of posh, proper Englishmen and women exploring a developing country is of little interest to me, and thankfully, this film isn’t interested in it either. Jaipur is a living, breathing backdrop that, instead of informing the story, permeates it in an elegant, subtle way. The characters definitely consider the hotel and Jaipur their home, and they don’t have to say it; you can see it in the way they move and occupy their environment. This unspoken message lends the film warmth.

Second Best is capped off by the obligatory Bollywood dance sequence, and I’m going to level with you: I dug the hell out of it. What’s not to like about watching dozens of people in awesome clothes bopping around and having a great time? The Bollywood dance is one of the rare instances in film when you’re almost positive no one on screen is acting; they look like they’re in a genuine state of bliss, and it’s totally irresistible. Madden couldn’t help himself, and I can’t either.

Sequels often shoot themselves in the foot when they retread ground already covered by their predecessors; heightened whimsy, airiness and positivity are what distinguish Second Best from The Best. In a poignant rumination near the end of the first film, Dench’s Evelyn says, “All that we know about the future is that it will be different. Perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So we celebrate the changes.” Cheers to that.