MONDO EXTRAS

He will not be pleased, if the next scene is any indication. Blowing off a job interview to run some Christmas pageant? Unthinkable! Thinking of other people rather than Rob Lowe? Unacceptable! Rob Lowe not acting like a total douche? Unheard of -- at least in this movie so far. (Sample dialogue: "Maggie got sick, Robert." "So give her an aspirin -- it's not your problem.") Seriously, I feel like I've watched a scene where Rob Lowe illustrates how out of whack his priorities are about a dozen times now. If those Christmas shoes are going to get someone in the holiday spirit, they had best get to it double-quick.

A sign that I am perhaps not in the Christmas Shoes target audience -- besides the fact that I enjoy the occasional cappuccino and don't think that makes me an effete voluptuary who's bringing America down from within: In the next sequence when young Nathan Andrews crawls into bed with his mama, puts his head to her chest and gurgles, "Your heart -- I just wanted to make sure it was still beating," I do not start reaching for the Kleenex and complaining of the copious amounts of dust in the Sobell homestead. Instead, I'm thinking, "Oh, you're a medical professional now? I don't see a stethoscope anywhere on your person, kiddo." And that was probably not the director's intent.

Hey -- it's an appearance by the Christmas shoes! It's been so long since I've seen them, I almost forgot about their awesome ability to spark a spiritual apotheosis in the lives of black-hearted yuppie lawyers who've forgotten how to love. Speaking of which, Rob Lowe is finally getting around to returning them to the department store to which they were headed when they fell out of that truck, lo those many scenes ago. The kindly-hearted department store owner thanks Rob Lowe for his troubles, while marveling that he doesn't remember ordering any shoes answering to this pair's garish description. Why sure you do, Mr. Gimball -- from the Deus Ex Machina Wholesaler's Catalog, remember? While we're on the subject of improbable turns of events, Rob Lowe's fancy German car picks this exact moment to crap out, allowing the kindly-hearted department store owner to do Rob Lowe a solid by recommending a mechanic who turns out to be...

... Jack Andrews. Seriously, do like eight people live in this quaint New England hamlet? This is beginning to feel like Les Miserables, where the same 12 people keep running into each other over the course of 1,488 pages. Only Christmas Shoes has less overwrought singing -- thus far. Anyhow, Jack vows to do diagnostic tests on Rob Lowe's car to determine what's causing the problem; instead of being appreciative, Rob Lowe instructs Jack to put a cover on his car at night. This delights Jack and his flunky to no end: "Now that's the kind of guy who drinks cappuccino," the flunky says. Heh heh heh, yeah -- fruitcake. But before Jack and his flunky have time to further deride Rob Lowe and his San Francisco values, Jack's beeper goes off. I know someone who's getting a new heart this Christmas!