What if the true spirit of Christmas didn’t come from gifts or glittering lights—but from the people who sell the very trees that bring the season to life? That’s the question lingering at the heart of The Merchants of Joy (2025), director Celia Aniskovich’s latest documentary. It’s not just a film about Christmas tree vendors; it’s a story about ambition, rivalry, redemption, and the strange, fleeting warmth that fuels a seasonal profession built on temporary joy.
When the holiday season kicks off—the Saturday before Thanksgiving—the Christmas hustle begins. Parking lots transform into temporary forests as families and workers unload fragrant evergreens, each calculating how many they must sell before December ends to make a decent profit. Before pressing play on the screener, the reviewer drove past a real Chicago tree lot and saw the ritual unfolding in real life—bundles of trees being unloaded and stands being assembled—making the film’s opening feel all the more authentic.
Aniskovich structures the documentary around four tight-knit families and one mysterious outsider, each hustling to claim the title of New York City’s best Christmas tree vendor. At first, the film bursts with energy—almost like a holiday postcard come to life—celebrating the magic and madness of the city that never sleeps. But as the pace settles, the camera moves closer to the people behind the trees, revealing humor, conflict, and heartache in equal measure.
The film introduces Gregory Walsh first, a larger-than-life figure who’s been selling Christmas trees for nearly four decades. Sporting a Santa-like demeanor, Walsh isn’t just a seasonal businessman; he sells pumpkins in autumn and roses for Mother’s Day. His son, 20-year-old Little Greg, might inherit the business, but the question lingers—does he want to? Then there’s George Schmidt, once Greg’s employee, now a single father of four navigating both parenthood and perpetual bad luck in the romance department. His motto: “A businessman always works.” The audience quickly realizes he isn’t just talking about sales.
Moving up north, we meet Jane Waterman and George Nash, a married Vermont couple whose daughter, Ciree, has taken over the family’s operation. Her backstory is as gripping as it is unlikely—she openly jokes, “Google me and you’ll find two things: a multimillion-dollar business and an arrest for heroin.” Down in New Jersey, former Schmidt employee Heather Neville runs NYC Tree Lady, her company built on grit and experience in one of the most cutthroat seasonal markets in America.
And that’s not an exaggeration. New York City is portrayed as the hardest place in the country to sell Christmas trees. Every vendor must bid for their location, turning what should be a cheerful enterprise into a strategic competition. But then comes the film’s most intriguing (and controversial) figure—Kevin Hammer, the industry’s shadow. Starting out at nineteen, Hammer has become a phantom competitor who wins prime selling spots year after year, leaving other sellers frustrated and mystified. The film’s subjects compare him to Keyser Söze from The Usual Suspects, a figure you hear about but rarely see. When Aniskovich finally tracks him down for an interview, it’s only by phone. He sounds exactly as imagined—gruff, evasive, unapologetic. And suddenly, the film takes on a sharp new edge.
But here’s where it gets controversial: just as Hammer’s presence begins to deepen the story’s tension, he fades from the screen, leaving the audience wanting more. The focus returns to day-to-day operations—how trees are grown, shipped, and sold; how workers sleep in lots to watch over their goods; and why artificial or store-bought corporate trees will never compare to the real thing. There’s beauty in these intimate details, but some viewers might miss the conflict Hammer represented. Even so, Aniskovich’s affection for her subjects keeps the narrative sincere. One standout moment involves Ciree discovering a homeless man sleeping in her office and persuading him to get help—a small act of humanity that perfectly captures the film’s spirit.
When placed alongside other beloved holiday documentaries like Dear Santa (2020), Jingle Bell Rocks (2013), and Becoming Santa (2011), The Merchants of Joy stands apart for its grit and unfiltered language. It’s not trying to sugarcoat the season. Instead, it spotlights the sweat and struggle that make joy possible for others. Still, one question lingers long after the credits roll: what drives a man like Kevin Hammer to compete so fiercely in an industry built around happiness—when he seems to have none himself?
Aniskovich doesn’t fully answer that question, but perhaps that mystery is what makes the documentary stick with you. Beneath the rivalry and exhaustion lies a universal message—to slow down, appreciate what you have, and recognize the people who bring small bits of magic into our lives each year. So the next time you buy a Christmas tree, maybe take a moment to ask the seller about their story. Who knows what joy, struggle, or secret ambition lies behind that smiling face at the lot?
What do you think? Is The Merchants of Joy a celebration of small business resilience—or a quiet critique of the capitalist grind behind holiday cheer? Share your take—because this documentary doesn’t just ask us to watch; it asks us to reflect.
