Welcome to day 24 of Blogmas 2025, my annual series of holiday-themed blog posts that runs through Christmas Day. First off, merry Christmas Eve to all of you reading this! Whether you’re frantically wrapping last-minute gifts, preparing tomorrow’s feast, or already settled in with your own holiday viewing traditions, I hope this evening finds you well. For this year’s Blogmas, I’ve been using AI-generated prompts for each day’s post, and today’s prompt asks me to share my “Christmas Eve Watchlist”—what movies, specials, or episodes are my must-watch every year on the 24th.

Here’s the thing about traditions: sometimes the best ones are the ones that aren’t really traditions at all. I know that sounds contradictory, but hear me out. When it comes to my Christmas Eve viewing habits, I’ve discovered that flexibility might be the most traditional thing about them.

Back in the days when cable was still a thing in my life, Christmas Eve had a built-in soundtrack and visual backdrop: TBS’s 24 Hours of A Christmas Story. From 6:00pm on December 24th through 6:00pm on Christmas Day, Ralphie’s quest for a Red Ryder BB gun played on repeat, and I made sure my TV stayed tuned to that channel. It wasn’t that I sat there watching all twelve airings—though I probably could have recited the entire movie from memory by the end of each marathon. It was more about the comfort of knowing it was there, this reliable presence that marked the passage of Christmas Eve into Christmas morning.

There was something beautifully mindless about it. I could wrap presents during the leg lamp scene, prepare food during the tongue-stuck-to-the-flagpole bit, and actually sit down and pay attention during my favorite moments. The repetition wasn’t boring; it was meditative. Each viewing caught different details, different line deliveries that struck me as funnier the seventh time around than they had the first.

Now, in our streaming age, that passive tradition has morphed into something requiring more intentionality. Sure, I could theoretically queue up A Christmas Story on HBO Max or wherever it’s streaming this year and watch it twelve times in a row if the mood struck me. But let’s be honest—the mood rarely strikes me to actively choose the same movie twelve times. The beauty of the cable marathon was that the choice was made for you. You surrendered to the schedule, and there was freedom in that surrender.

These days, my Christmas Eve viewing centers around a holy trinity of films that I make sure to watch at some point during the season, and if I haven’t gotten to them yet, Christmas Eve becomes the deadline. These aren’t necessarily Christmas Eve exclusives, but rather the safety net films—the ones that absolutely must be watched before December 25th rolls around, or the season feels incomplete.

First up is It’s a Wonderful Life, which might be the most Christmas Eve-appropriate film ever made, given that most of its crucial scenes take place on that very night. There’s something about George Bailey’s dark night of the soul that resonates differently when watched on December 24th. Maybe it’s because Christmas Eve carries its own unique weight—the anticipation, the pressure, the last-minute panic that everything won’t be perfect. George’s journey from despair to joy, from feeling worthless to understanding his profound impact on others, hits different when you’re in that liminal space between preparation and celebration.

I’ll admit, It’s a Wonderful Life requires a certain emotional availability that I don’t always have on Christmas Eve. It’s not background viewing; it demands your full attention and probably a box of tissues. Some years, I’m ready for that emotional journey. Other years, I need something lighter, which brings me to option two.

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is the polar opposite of Capra’s earnest masterpiece, and that’s exactly why it’s perfect. Where It’s a Wonderful Life asks us to contemplate the value of a human life and the ripple effects of our existence, Christmas Vacation asks us to laugh at a cat getting electrocuted by Christmas lights. Both are valid Christmas Eve moods.

Clark Griswold’s increasingly deranged pursuit of the perfect family Christmas speaks to something real about the holiday season—the way our expectations can spiral so far from reality that the only sane response is to laugh. Every disaster that befalls the Griswold family, from the overcooked turkey to the SWAT team arrival, is an exaggerated version of our own holiday mishaps. It’s cathartic viewing, especially on Christmas Eve when you’re acutely aware of all the things that could go wrong tomorrow.

The third member of my must-watch trinity brings us back to A Christmas Story, though without the marathon commitment. Watching it once through, intentionally, is different from having it on as background comfort. When I actively choose to watch it, I notice things that get lost in the marathon blur: the perfect period details of 1940s Indiana, the way the Old Man’s gruffness barely conceals his affection, the mother’s quiet orchestration of family harmony. It’s a movie about nostalgia that triggers nostalgia, a double-layer of looking back that feels appropriate for Christmas Eve.

The beauty of this loose trilogy is that I rarely watch all three on Christmas Eve itself. Usually, I’ve caught one or two earlier in December, leaving just one for the 24th. The choice of which one depends entirely on my mood, my energy level, and how much emotional bandwidth I have left after the season’s preparations.

As a single guy spending Christmas Eve solo these days, my viewing habits have evolved from the communal experiences of childhood. Gone are the days of family gatherings where the TV provided background ambiance to conversation and laughter. The Christmas Eves at Mamaw and Papa’s house that I wrote about earlier this month had their own rhythms and traditions that didn’t really involve television at all. We were too busy with our progressive dinner, our gift exchanges, our attempts to guess what was in each package before opening it.

Now, Christmas Eve viewing has become a more contemplative experience. There’s something to be said for watching these films alone, without the distraction of commentary or the need to consider others’ preferences. I can pause It’s a Wonderful Life to sit with George’s desperation on the bridge. I can rewind Christmas Vacation to catch every one of Clark’s under-his-breath rants. I can let A Christmas Story wash over me without feeling obligated to laugh at the parts everyone expects you to laugh at.

The streaming age has given us infinite choices, which is both a blessing and a curse on Christmas Eve. Part of me misses the simplicity of cable, where you worked with what was given to you. TNT is showing The Lord of the Rings trilogy? Guess that’s what we’re watching. ABC Family (or Freeform, or whatever it’s called now) has a Harry Potter marathon? Sure, Hogwarts at Christmas sounds good.

Now, faced with every Christmas movie ever made at my fingertips, the paradox of choice can be paralyzing. Do I go classic with White Christmas or Holiday Inn? Do I embrace the new with whatever Netflix’s algorithm is pushing this year? Do I ironically watch Die Hard and participate in that eternal “Is it a Christmas movie?” debate? (It is, by the way, but that’s a discussion I just covered the other day.)

Usually, I end up defaulting back to my trinity, because that’s what tradition really is—not rigid adherence to a schedule, but the comfortable return to what feels right. These three films have become my Christmas Eve anchors, even when I don’t watch them on Christmas Eve itself. Just knowing they’re there, ready to stream whenever I need them, provides the same comfort that the 24-hour marathon once did.

There’s probably something metaphorical in this evolution from passive consumption to active choice, from communal viewing to solitary watching, from cable schedules to streaming libraries. But on Christmas Eve, I’m not particularly interested in mining for deeper meaning. Sometimes a Christmas movie is just a Christmas movie, and the simple act of watching it—whether for the first or fiftieth time—is tradition enough.

As I write this, I haven’t decided what I’ll watch tonight. Maybe I’ll go with It’s a Wonderful Life if I’m feeling emotionally sturdy. Maybe Christmas Vacation if I need to laugh at someone else’s holiday chaos. Maybe A Christmas Story if I want to wrap myself in nostalgia like a comfortable blanket. Or maybe I’ll surprise myself and choose something entirely different. The beauty of a flexible tradition is that it bends without breaking, adapts without losing its essential shape.

Whatever ends up on my screen tonight, it’ll be the right choice, because Christmas Eve viewing isn’t really about the movies themselves. It’s about marking time, creating space for reflection or distraction as needed, and maintaining some thread of continuity with Christmases past while acknowledging that things change, traditions evolve, and sometimes the best plan is no plan at all.

So what about you? Do you have rigid Christmas Eve viewing traditions, or are you more flexible like me? Are there movies you absolutely must watch before Christmas morning, or do you let the mood dictate your choices? And for those of you with families, how do you negotiate between personal viewing preferences and group dynamics? I’d love to hear about your Christmas Eve watchlists—the official ones and the ones that actually happen when the remote’s in your hand and decision time arrives.

Drop a comment below and share your Christmas Eve viewing traditions, flexible or otherwise. And from me to you, have a wonderful Christmas Eve, whatever you end up watching.