Netflix’s holiday movies get a little more chaotic every year—and My Secret Santa, which drops today, fully embraces the madness. Alexandra Breckenridge, best known as Mel from Virgin River, dives headfirst into comedy territory by donning full Mrs. Doubtfire-style prosthetics to play… a man… pretending to be Santa. Yes. Really.
Directed by Michael Rohl and written by Carley Smale and Hallmark veteran Ron Oliver, the film follows Taylor, a single mother (Breckenridge) desperate to afford her daughter Zoey’s spot at an elite—and hilariously overpriced—snowboarding school. The only way to snag a tuition discount? Get hired at the resort. The only job available? Santa Claus.
Naturally, Taylor ropes in her brother and his partner—either expert costume designers or dangerously enthusiastic cosplayers—to build her a full transformation: padded belly, gray wig, and a disturbingly realistic Santa mask that sits firmly in the uncanny valley.
If you’re sensing Mrs. Doubtfire déjà vu, you’re not wrong. The movie lovingly copies the 1993 classic beat for beat, right down to the frantic climax where Taylor has to appear as herself and Santa at the same event. Cue the chaotic bathroom quick-changes.
But the true comic masterpiece arrives when Taylor’s cover finally blows. Breckenridge tears off her Santa mask like an ’80s sci-fi creature shedding its human skin, her hair whipping free like a shampoo-commercial heroine—all during a supposedly emotional reveal opposite Ryan Eggold. It’s dramatic. It’s unhinged. It’s perfect.
Breckenridge clearly revels in the absurdity, even if her “deep man voice” is… generously passable. And the movie’s logic? Don’t poke too hard—since when do ski resorts employ full-time Santas, and since when do teenagers beg for therapy sessions? But that’s all part of the charm.
At the end of the day, you’re watching Mel Monroe in a giant beard, fat suit, and hyperrealistic latex face. If that doesn’t automatically make you smile, nothing will.
