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…

Effie Gray is a 19th century period piece that wants to be about feminism and female independence in the Victorian era, but the road it takes to get to its central message is so long and lonesome that, simply put, it winds up being too dull an affair for us to care. Dakota Fanning—the once exceedingly precocious child actor who’s recently found her footing as a mature, refined thesp—plays Euphemia “Effie” Gray, a sad girl stuck in a sad situation. In 1848 the 19-year-old Gray married John Ruskin (Greg Wise), one of the most eminently lauded and biting art critics of the era. Before they were wedded, Ruskin wrote a fairy tale inspired by Gray called “The King of the Golden River” (they met when Gray was only 12); unfortunately, what became of their eventual marriage was the stuff of nightmares rather than romance fantasy.

The film, directed by Richard Laxton and written by Emma Thompson, begins in the muck (and stays there): On their wedding night, Effie de-robes in front of her new husband in a gesture that by any measure is completely normal and expected. John’s reaction is anything but normal, however, as he’s frozen in fright at the sight of Effie’s pubic hair, turning down her offer for intercourse on their wedding night. It’s a dick move that’s both childish and repugnant, considering the poor girl literally bared all for him. John yanks Effie away from her home in Scotland to live with his rich family in their posh, stuffy London mansion. Once we meet John’s parents, it becomes clear where his dick-ish tendencies comes from.

John’s parents (Julie Walters and David Suchet, in antagonist mode) step all over Effie from the get-go, ignoring her presence most of the time and ridiculing her whenever her actions don’t align with their impossible expectations. John’s a momma’s boy, so her disdain for his new wife slowly trickles down until his resentment for Effie is level with his parents’. The bitter oppression doled out by the Ruskins is what defines the movie: a large majority of the running time is dedicated to watching Effie look miserable after getting verbally stoned by her husband and in-laws. Everything culminates in the last 20 minutes of the film, when Effie devises a plan to free herself from the shackles of marriage, but it’s too little too late; by the time we get there, we’re drowning in a pool of sorrow, too dejected for her final stand to make a lasting impact. The only lasting image to take away is Fanning’s vacant facial expression, which hovers perpetually somewhere between groggy and comatose.

Laxton and Thompson’s storytelling is so plodding and sedate that the film ends up being incredibly vapid and mildly dramatic at best. If the movie took less time illustrating Effie’s poisonous environment and more time delving into her personal quest for independence, this might have been a more involving affair with more narrative thrust. But instead, the film stagnates, wallowing in the sorry state of Effie and John’s marriage. It’s deflating to say the least, and we don’t really get a sense of who Effie is as a person, which saps even more life out of the story. Maybe the story’s timeline should have been expanded: if we saw Effie before the marriage, we’d get a better sense of who she was before the debacle and what parts of herself she lost when she married the bastard.

It makes sense that Effie would be in such a tranquilized state throughout the film, but just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s compelling to watch. Fanning is a versatile actor, but here she’s given no room to stretch and only one color to paint with: gray (sorry, I couldn’t resist). Wise isn’t given much to do but be a pitiful, docile man-boy, but Walters and Suchet overachieve as the elder Ruskins, making us hate everything they stand for without being overtly villainous. Thompson plays the most vivacious character in the film, a good-hearted socialite who is the Fairy Godmother to Effie’s Cinderella. She slaps the film awake on the handful of occasions she appears, but once she’s gone we slip back into lousy-land with a quickness.

What’s meant to be a pivotal role but winds up feeling like an afterthought is that of Pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais, played by Tom Sturridge, who falls for Effie and hopes to save her from the clutches of the dastardly Ruskin clan. Millais is too underdeveloped as a character and Sturridge’s performance doesn’t elevate it either. It’s a shame, because the love triangle could have been an interesting, albeit traditional, source of conflict.

On the bright side, the painterly imagery is truly something to behold. Every environment and landscape and costume is richly detailed and builds an absorbing atmosphere that achieves the “time warp” effect all period pieces strive for.  Though not as beautiful as Mr. Turner, which took place in the same time period and in the same place, Effie Gray is nonetheless a stunning portrait of 19th century London with breathtaking shots of the Scottish Highlands thrown in for good measure.

The true story of Gray and Ruskin’s marriage is one of scandal and controversy and resonates with today’s crisis of gender inequity. It’s thought-provoking stuff, but due to Laxton and Thompson’s dirge-like approach, their cinematic retelling of the true events does nothing but make you feel lousy and ready for a nap.