As the first flurries of November dust the world in white, Netflix has unfurled its annual yuletide banner with A Merry Little Ex-Mas, a rom-com that wraps the chaos of divorce in twinkling lights and mistletoe mishaps. Premiering globally on November 12, 2025—just in time to kick off your holiday binge without the guilt of skipping the turkey prep—this 89-minute gem directed by Steve Carr (Daddy Day Care) and penned by Holly Hester (The Royal Treatment) is the ultimate stocking stuffer for anyone who’s ever navigated the minefield of exes and eggnog. Starring Alicia Silverstone as the frazzled Kate and Oliver Hudson as her soon-to-be-former husband Everett, the film transforms a crumbling marriage into a festive farce, where cookie swaps turn into confessionals and a surprise girlfriend crashes the carol sing-along. It’s not just a movie; it’s a warm, woolen hug for the soul, blending ’90s nostalgia with modern marital mayhem to remind us that sometimes, the best Christmas miracles involve letting go—or, in this case, gleefully setting the gingerbread house ablaze.

The story unfolds in the snow-draped idyll of Winterlight, Vermont—a town so quaint it feels like it was bottled in a Yankee Candle factory, complete with cobblestone streets lined with holly wreaths and a central square where the annual tree lighting doubles as a matchmaking frenzy. Kate, a eco-warrior handywoman who’s traded her Boston architect dreams for leaky faucets and PTA bake sales, is laser-focused on one last picture-perfect holiday in the family home before signing it away to fund her fresh start. Divorced but not yet decoupled, she ropes in Everett, the town’s golden-boy doctor whose workaholic ways masked years of emotional drift, for a co-parenting charade: matching pajamas for the kids, a turkey carved with surgical precision, and zero drama. Their children—precocious tween Sienna (Emily Hall, channeling wide-eyed wonder with a side of sass) and pint-sized firecracker Gabriel (Wilder Hudson, Oliver’s real-life nephew, stealing scenes with gap-toothed grins)—are the unwitting glue, their wish lists scrawled with pleas for “one more family photo.”

But as any holiday veteran knows, plans in Winterlight are as slippery as black ice. Enter Tess (Jameela Jamil, all statuesque poise and TED Talk charisma), Everett’s dazzling new girlfriend—a high-powered wellness guru whose Instagram empire peddles empowerment retreats and kale-infused elixirs. Her arrival, announced with a flourish of monogrammed luggage and a vegan fruitcake that could double as a doorstop, shatters the fragile truce like a dropped ornament. What follows is a whirlwind of awkward toasts, passive-aggressive present-wrapping sessions, and a disastrous tree-trimming where tinsel tangles into literal knots of resentment. Kate, ever the fixer-upper, channels her inner MacGyver—duct-taping garlands and her fraying composure—while Everett grapples with the ghost of Christmases past, his easy charm cracking under the weight of what-ifs. “We built this life on gingerbread and good intentions,” Kate quips during a midnight kitchen confab, flour-dusted and teary-eyed, “but it’s crumbling faster than last year’s fruitcake.”

Carr, whose family-flick pedigree shines in the film’s buoyant energy, shoots Winterlight like a living postcard: golden-hour glows filtering through pine boughs, steam rising from mugs of spiked cider, and a soundtrack of jingling bells underscoring every heartfelt huff. Hester’s script, sharp as a candy cane’s edge, mines gold from the mundane—think a Secret Santa swap gone rogue, where Kate draws Everett’s name and gifts him a hammer engraved with “Nail It or Bail It,” or a caroling catastrophe where Tess’s off-key soprano sparks an impromptu harmony lesson that doubles as therapy. It’s laced with knowing winks to holiday tropes: the obligatory snowball fight that devolves into a therapy session, the power outage forcing flashlight-lit truths, and a climax at the town ice rink where spins and spills mirror the emotional pirouette. At 89 minutes, it zips by like a sleigh ride, never overstaying its welcome but lingering just long enough to thaw the iciest of Scrooge hearts.

At the epicenter is Silverstone, 49 and radiant as ever, resurrecting the Clueless-era charm that made her a Gen-X goddess while layering in the weary wisdom of a woman rediscovering her blueprint. Kate isn’t the damsel in a snow globe; she’s the architect dismantling her own tower, her quick wit (“Divorce is like holiday lights—tangled, frustrating, and impossible to store”) masking a vulnerability that Silverstone sells with every furrowed brow and forced smile. Fresh off Irish Wish‘s leprechaun-laced larks, she anchors the ensemble with effortless grace, her chemistry with Hudson crackling like a Yule log—equal parts exasperation and electricity. Hudson, 49 and channeling his brother-in-law Kurt Russell’s folksy appeal from The Christmas Chronicles, plays Everett as the relatable cad: a dad who remembers every kid’s allergy but forgets anniversaries, his boyish remorse peeking through rumpled sweaters and half-baked apologies. “I thought moving on meant moving forward,” he confesses during a heartfelt hearthside heart-to-heart, his voice thick with tinsel-tangled regret. Their sibling-like synergy—Hudson once admitted to a teenage crush on Silverstone’s Cher—infuses the ex-spousal sparring with authentic affection, making every barb land like a velvet-gloved slap.

The supporting cast is a holiday ham buffet, stealing bites with gleeful abandon. Jamil, 39 and towering in both stature and snark, is a revelation as Tess—not the villainous vixen but a fish-out-of-festive-water foil whose earnest attempts at blending in (picture her in an ugly Christmas sweater reciting mindfulness mantras over mulled wine) unearth her own cracks of insecurity. “I’m all about boundaries,” she declares during a tense turkey carve, only to blur them spectacularly in a tipsy truth-or-dare gone viral. Pierson Fodé, 33 and buff as a beefcake ornament, hams it up as Chet, the dimpled local contractor who’s Kate’s platonic Prince Charming—his stripper-esque chimney-cleaning routine amid a yuletide inferno is the film’s laugh-out-loud pinnacle, equal parts absurd and oddly arousing. Melissa Joan Hart, 50 and producing alongside her mother Paula Hart via Hartbreak Films, brings Sabrina-spell sparkle as Lauren, Kate’s bubbly bestie and realtor extraordinaire, her witchy wisdom dispensed over wine flights and whispered schemes. “Exes are like fruitcake—best left uneaten,” she toasts, before plotting a post-divorce glow-up that rivals any Sabrina spell.

Youngsters Hall and Wilder Hudson add pint-sized poignancy, their wide-eyed wonder at the adults’ antics—Gabriel’s deadpan “Dad’s new mom smells like a yoga mat”—tugging heartstrings without tipping into sap. Linda Kash rounds out the revelry as Mrs. Claus incarnate, the town busybody whose fruitcake-fueled gossip oils the wheels of Winterlight’s merry machine. Filmed in Toronto’s frost-kissed February-March 2025 amid a freak snowstorm that blanketed sets in authentic powder, the production buzzed with off-screen warmth: Silverstone hosted vegan potlucks, Hudson led impromptu carol sings, and Jamil’s wellness workshops kept the cast zen amid the chaos. Carr, drawing from his music-video roots, infuses the visuals with kinetic joy—slow-mo snow globe spins, firelit close-ups that capture every flushed cheek—while composer Steve Mazzaro’s score weaves twinkling chimes with heartfelt swells, evoking John Williams’ holiday whimsy with a pop-punk edge.

Critics are caroling a mixed chorus, but the audience anthem rings loud: a cozy crowd-pleaser that’s more cocoa than critique. The Guardian shrugs it off as “cheap Christmas spirit,” lamenting a “cop-out ending” that reins in Kate’s ambitions for rom-com reconciliation, while Collider crowns it “perfectly cozy,” praising the “strong ensemble chemistry” that radiates like radiator heat. But Why Tho? dings it as a “merry little frustration” for undercutting its feminist flickers with formulaic fluff, yet What’s on Netflix? doles out three stars for its “deep cast’s strengths” and “warm Christmastime feeling.” On Rotten Tomatoes, it holds a 72% audience score, buoyed by viewers who binge it with hot toddies: “Silverstone slays the slay-queen trope,” one raves, while another confesses, “Ugly-cried over the lantern scene—divorce never felt so festive.” Social scrolls overflow with memes: Chet’s chimney shimmy stitched to Magic Mike, Tess’s TED Talk parodies gone viral, and #ExMasFail threads swapping real-life holiday horror stories.

In a streaming season stacked with Hot Frosty‘s shirtless snowmen and The Merry Gentlemen‘s ho-ho-hoes, A Merry Little Ex-Mas carves its niche as the thoughtful tinsel: a rom-com that doesn’t shy from the sting of separation but seasons it with second chances and self-love. It’s a reminder that holidays aren’t about perfection—they’re about presence, whether that’s the glow of a shared string of lights or the spark of a solo sleigh ride. As Kate toasts in the finale, gazing at the tree aglow with mismatched ornaments: “Merry isn’t little—it’s messy, and it’s ours.” Fire up Netflix, snag the spiked cocoa, and let Silverstone and crew jingle your bells. The ex-mas spirit is here, and it’s hilariously heartfelt.