Talthough I personally believe that all Christmas movies should wait until after Thanksgiving – it’s just not 80F (26C) in New York City anymore last week, Yep – I can’t fault a film for being exactly what it wants to be. The trailer for Hot Frosty, Netflix’s latest foray into Hallmark holiday territory, promised to answer the question no one asked: What if Frosty the Snowman had abs?

Curious minds indeed want to know. Fortunately, the actual final product, 90 minutes of deeply unserious, sometimes saccharine fluff written by Russell Hainline, delivers logistical and spiritual answers to Half-Naked Alive Snowman’s dilemma with complete dedication to the genre. Said snowman, Jack (Dustin Milligan), wakes up with barely a strategically placed scarf to cover him. The town of Hope Springs is even more of a New England mirage (via Canada) than Stars Hollow from Gilmore Girls. The snow is clearly Styrofoam. All old women are horny. Chrishell Stause also lives there. Merry christmas!

I have to appreciate a movie that gets straight to the point – 10 minutes after we learn that Kathy (Mean Girls’ Lacey Chabert) lives in a demolished house, owns a cafe (sorry, Kathy’s Kafe) and is sad and alone, she has a torn human refrigerator on her hands. Because she put the scarf on him, he made an impression on her and says that he loves her immediately. He’s cold, so he almost never wears a shirt (it would be nice if Mulligan’s abs performed a little less childlike feats). Kathy’s friend (Katy Mixon) concludes that Jack’s body temperature is below freezing and that he is definitely a snowman – a fact that most of the townspeople are quick to accept because, as friendly vintage shop owner Jane (Lauren Holly) puts it: “That sweet man must be magical, don’t you think?’

Jack’s point, if it exists, is to help Kathy heal after her beloved husband’s death from cancer, revealed by a doctor’s note reading “chemotherapy will begin immediately” in Comic Sans (thanks, director Jerry Ciccoritti). And the point of Hot Frosty, as much as it is, is the fulfillment of a meringue-light fantasy, aside from the fact that Jack doesn’t know how to kiss or ask Kathy out. But he learns quickly, likes to cook and fix the house, gets along with everyone and, again, never wants to wear a shirt. They don’t make real snowmen like this anymore!

The only problem is that the sheriff, Nate (Craig Robinson, clearly having a ball), is a caricature of a cop trying to make a name for himself by arresting the mysterious long-haired ‘streaker’ you see around town. Robinson and his deputy (Joe Lo Truglio) liven up Hot Frosty with a comically over-the-top good cop/bad cop routine and extremely arbitrary bail fees, a necessary addition considering Jack doesn’t have much other than… abs and Elf-life glee (he too, prefers pure sugar, along with ice cubes).

But fear not – while Chabert evokes some feeling as a woman who has already witnessed one man’s death and may have to watch another man literally melt to death, Hot Frosty is overwhelmingly ridiculous glee. It delivers almost everything you’d expect from a movie called Hot Frosty: adults attending a high school dance just because, in a reference to Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls/Falling For Christmas, a woman shouts, “What can I doing? You can’t defibrillate a snowman!” and the ugliest snowflake necklace I have ever seen in my life.

I’m as skeptical as anyone about Netflix’s tendency to frame films as “content” to encourage audiences to view films as cheap and disposable, but there’s little to hate here. It’s a genuinely stupid idea that’s honestly executed, with seemingly complete acceptance from everyone involved that this is indeed a movie about a snowman with abs. I’ll take that kind of brain freeze for now.