Tyler Taormina’s latest film Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point is a refreshing departure from the typical high-stakes, disaster-driven Christmas offerings. Taormina offers a tender, observational look at a sprawling Italian-American family as they gather in their ageing matriarch’s suburban home for one last time.
Taormina (Ham on Rye, Harper’s Comet) forgoes a traditional plot in favour of vignettes, weaving together snippets of conversation and lingering on small details that paint a vivid picture of the festivities. Cinematographer Carson Lund uses a dreamy mix of vintage Christmas colours, twinkling fairy lights and close-ups of toy trains to evoke a sense of nostalgia.
What makes Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point so compelling is its commitment to capturing the small, often banal moments that define family gatherings. The adults debate whether it’s time to move their ailing mother to a nursing home, masking their grief with forced smiles. Meanwhile, the youngsters, particularly teenage cousins Michelle (Francesca Scorsese) and Emily (Matilda Fleming), plot their escape, yearning for freedom from the suffocating traditions.
The film’s second half, when the teenagers break away from the family home, is where Miller’s Point loses a bit of focus. The shift in setting introduces new characters, like Michael Cera and Gregg Turkington as bored highway cops, and Sawyer Spielberg as a stoner named Splint. These additions slightly dilute the emotional core of the film’s familial setting setting in the first half, but never feel overly laboured.
Despite its meandering structure, the film’s strength lies in its ability to capture the holiday experience’s peculiar blend of comfort and discomfort. It replicates the disorienting sensation of dipping in and out of conversations is these kinds of settings where fragments of gossip, petty squabbles, and family history surface organically.
Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point may not resonate with everyone, especially those expecting a more conventional holiday narrative. Its vibes-based approach and slow, observational style require patience and a lot of appreciation for the way it looks. But for those willing to settle into its rhythm, the film offers a richly textured, authentic portrayal of a family holiday gathering by capturing the essence of Christmas, warts and all.
In a landscape crowded with formulaic holiday films, Taormina’s offering stands out as a lovingly crafted, intimate portrait of a family Christmas. It’s a film that understands that the true magic of the season lies not in grand narratives but in the small, imperfect moments shared with loved ones. It’s as subtle as a heart attack in a middle of a three course meal, but for some reason it works.
