There is something genuinely intriguing — even timely — about the premise of Oh. What. Fun.. Framed quite explicitly as a Home Alone in reverse, the idea is simple and contemporary: this time, it’s not the child who gets left behind, but the mother who removes herself from the ritual to be noticed — to make visible the emotional labor that usually goes unquestioned.

The problem is that for absence to work as drama, the film needs to build what’s missing. And it never does.

From the outset, we are presented with a family in constant friction, perpetually on edge, but without the underlying affection that would make those tensions meaningful. In Home Alone, the family is loud, selfish, chaotic — but recognizable. There is a bond, however fragile, that anchors both the comedy and the emotional payoff. Here, the characters seem to operate on different frequencies, as if each were reacting to a different movie altogether.

The aggression is relentless and largely unexamined. A brother-in-law locked in perpetual conflict with his sister, a sister defined almost exclusively by irritation, a brother reduced to the vague concept of someone “searching for love,” and a husband who articulates feelings his body language, actions, and emotional presence never support. These conflicts are introduced without context, without evolution, and without consequence. There is no subtext — only noise.

This is especially damaging because the film claims to be about invisible emotional labor — the mother who organizes, remembers, anticipates, and holds everything together. Yet the screenplay does not do the emotional work required to make these relationships feel lived-in or credible. It asks for empathy without first establishing intimacy. It demands recognition without building a connection.

Michelle Pfeiffer carries much of the film with grace and intelligence, finding flashes of honesty where exhaustion and irony intersect. But her absence should provoke guilt, confusion, and a destabilizing sense of loss. Instead, it produces caricatured conflict and emotional static.

By the end, Oh. What. Fun. delivers its message plainly: maternal dedication deserves recognition, and traditions are not sacred by default. Families can — and perhaps must — learn to create new rituals, less automatic and more intentional.

It’s a good message. It just isn’t enough.

Without believable family chemistry and with conflicts driven by excessive, poorly motivated hostility, the film ultimately feels more like a statement than an experience — a Christmas movie that talks about family, but never quite feels like one.