One of the biggest lies the movies tell?
That New York City is a magical place to be at Christmastime.
Hollywood depicts pleasantly bustling streets full of festive commuters, warm and inviting department stores, and warehouses worth of garland, tinsel and string lights that combine into a spectacular holiday fantasyland.
Improbably, characters smile in these films.
And, hey, I get it. NYC is a smart place to set a Christmas movie — an entire city full of Scrooges ripe for redemption.
Especially that one Krampus of a critic from the New York Post. Jerry Oliesky, or something like that.
But believe me, from now until Jan. 2 any seasonal spot in Manhattan that looks nice and fun onscreen is actually a cruel and unusual hellscape of crowds, stress and astronomical credit card debt.
Midtown is a nightmare before Christmas, during Christmas and for several days after Christmas.
Starting Wednesday, when the godforsaken Rockefeller Center tree is officially lit, Sixth Avenue turns into the Running of the Bulls without paella and with far more gruesome injuries.
The absurd notion that a 12-year-old boy played by Macaulay Culkin could safely have that entire plaza all to himself at night and be easily found there by his worried mother is slightly less realistic than the plot of “Avatar.”
It’s beyond jammed. You wait and shiver and elbow and shove your way to an Instagram-friendly vantage, slap on a fake grin, snap a pic and elbow and shove your way out. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal!
Oh, and that cute, romantic ice skating rink next to the Godzilla conifer? It costs you anywhere from $47 to $124 for an hour of falling and back-side bruises.
The travel website Holafly just rated it the most overcrowded Christmas attraction in the world.
Awfully big place, the world.
In “Home Alone 2: Lost In New York,” scenes are scored by jaunty John Williams music that would imply that people are actually enjoying winter.
Of course, our real official soundtrack is incoherent shouting. And we hardly even get snow until mid January. We’re just freezing our asses off on the same old ugly asphalt.
It does not come as a surprise that the last remake of “Miracle on 34th Street” came more than 30 years ago.
Been on 34th Street lately? A miracle would be someone picking up a broom.
On a good day, everything in the city is a series of competitive lines at the end of which is a lackluster gelato. But the fight goes into overdrive in late December. Seeing a Broadway show becomes a battle of wills and wallets.
Christmas week tends to be Broadway’s most lucrative of the year. So, tickets to “Wicked,” “Lion King” and “Hamilton” are at their most expensive and in-demand.
You might, might be able to squeeze into a wholesome family entertainment like “Oedipus.”
But coveted seats to the “Radio City Christmas Spectacular” are spoken of in low voices like drug deals on one of our many fine upstanding street corners.
“Come on, man, I need some!”
The rare movie that mostly gets this unbearable time in NYC right is “Elf.”
Nobody on the street puts up with Buddy the Elf’s high-spirited crap, not even the CD hawking guys. His biological father tries to kick him out of his office.
When Buddy gets into a spat with a mall Santa Claus, Saint Nick says, “How would you like to be dead?”
Now that is a New York Christmas in a chestnutshell.
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