Holiday in Santa Fe

The Ornament and the Ledger

There is a particular genre of Christmas movie that feels less like cinema and more like a warm blanket—predictable, reliable, and allergic to anything ugly or messy. *Holiday in Santa Fe* (2021), directed by Jody Margolin Hahn, settles comfortably into that corner, but with a modest spark of curiosity. It sets up the usual corporate-versus-tradition framework: an ambitious executive lands at a family-owned ornament shop in New Mexico, ready to graft efficiency onto heritage. As the story unfolded, though, my interest shifted away from whether the couple would end up beneath the mistletoe (they obviously do) and toward the tug-of-war between the polished, mass-produced corporate world and the unruly, tactile life of a family craft.



Mario López carries the film. His screen presence has mellowed into a kind of easy, slightly weathered charm. He plays Tony, the backbone of the Orchard family’s shop, and there’s a quiet steadiness to him—none of the hyperactive energy from *Saved by the Bell*, more a man anchored to dusty benches and glitter dust. He isn’t fighting a revolution; he simply doesn’t want his life reduced to efficiency reports. López gives him the kind of calm resistance that keeps the sometimes airy script tethered to the reality of small-business fear.

Emeraude Toubia as Belinda has the tougher job. She needs to register as cool enough to ignore the Ortegas’ warmth, yet still soft enough to eventually surrender to it. Despite the familiar beats, the movie leans into Santa Fe’s specifics—the adobe walls, the unique Christmas customs, the *farolitos*. That’s Hahn’s smart move: she’s not just shooting pretty scenery, she’s capturing a culture that resists Belinda’s sterile, air-conditioned corporate look.



Around the midpoint, Belinda lifts an ornament to evaluate it—scale, cost, shipping. But as she turns it, her eyes lose that calculating edge. She notices the brushstrokes, the slight imperfection in the paint. It’s a quiet beat, almost throwaway, and yet it’s the fulcrum of her arc. Watching Toubia’s fingers ease from a clinical grip to one that actually feels the object is a small bit of craft that keeps the scene from sliding into mere plot machinery. It’s the instant when the ledger gets set aside and the craft takes over.

Critics love to dismiss these TV movies as “junk food,” which feels like a lazy put-down. Writing for *The New York Times*, Natalia Winkelman pointed out how the film leans on Mexican Christmas traditions to keep it grounded—something that sets it apart from the cookie-cutter Hallmark stuff that looks like it was shot in a generic Vancouver soundstage. That matters. *Holiday in Santa Fe* never pretends to be art-house, but it does insist that regional identity matters in an era of global sameness.



In the end, the film doesn’t quite resolve the tension it builds. The corporate storyline wraps up with a bow that feels a little too tidy, as if compromise is always easy when the lighting is soft and everyone looks good. Maybe that’s the point. This isn’t a documentary about the death of craftsmanship; it’s a fairy tale about keeping it alive. I left feeling like I’d spent an hour in a room where someone still cares about how the paint sits on ceramic, and in a world growing more digital every day, that’s not the worst way to spend an afternoon. It’s a reminder that sometimes the thin line between tradition and oblivion is simply pausing to look at the object in your hands.