Content Warning: Some spoilers ahead for the movie and book “The Magic of Ordinary Days,” as well as discussion about the internment of Japanese-American citizens.

While screwing around on Pinterest, I found a couple of stills from a cozy-looking period piece titled “The Magic of Ordinary Days.” Someone in the comments listed it as one of their favorite movies, and as I am always down for comfort watches, I thought I’d give it a chance. Two weeks later, I’ve rewatched it several times, read the book it was based on, and planned fanfiction sequels for these characters.

“The Magic of Ordinary Days” is a 2005 Hallmark Hall of Fame movie starring Keri Russel and Skeet Ulrich, based on the 2001 novel of the same name by Ann Howard Creel. Hallmark Hall of Fame began airing movies and specials in 1951 and only seemed to stop in the last few years. Hallmark Hall of Fame movies have a higher budget and production values, so you’ll cringe less because you don’t feel like you’re watching a 90-minute PSA about the importance of abstinence.

“The Magic of Ordinary Days” is an impressive production, and I can see why so many people have it listed as one of their favorites. The story is a slow-burn romance featuring a layered main character, solid performances from its leads, and serious storylines with emotional stakes. In other words, the characters have actual motives and interests, and the story doesn’t feel formulaic. Actual effort appears to have gone into this production (although please don’t let the initial cheap-looking editing put you off).

In 1944, Livy Dunne, a highly educated woman just shy of graduating with her master’s in archaeology, finds herself in a delicate situation. After a brief romance with a soldier, she finds herself pregnant and very much unmarried. Fearing the impact this would have on their family’s reputation, Livy’s father, a minister, arranges to have her married to a random farmer out near La Junta, Colorado. The farmer, Ray Singleton, is kind, painfully shy, and lives a modest life on his family’s farm, and for some reason, jumps at the chance to gain an instant family. Ray falls in love with Livy almost instantly, but Livy has her reservations. While slowly getting to know Ray, with whom she has nothing in common, Livy secretly pens letters to the father of her child, the man who did the 1940s version of “hit and quit it.”

Livy also forms an adorable friendship with two sisters at Camp Amache, a Japanese internment camp. Rose and Florence Umahara are originally from Southern California and were studying at USC but were forced to leave after the Attack on Pearl Harbor (the same place where Ray’s younger brother, Daniel, lost his life). Now, the curious, educated sisters find themselves picking potatoes in rural Colorado, surrounded by unfriendly strangers, even more trapped than Livy ever was.

The story climaxes when Florence conspires with her sister to help a German POW escape to New Mexico. This scene is where the novel and the film diverge significantly, and if I’m being honest, I preferred the ending to this film. In the book, Rose and her sister (there named Lorelei), sew fake uniforms for the POW boyfriend(s), and trick Livy into driving the men into New Mexico. Book Livy finds the situation a little odd but remains ignorant of the men’s true identities and becomes an unwitting accomplice to their plan. The German POWs are arrested almost immediately and tell the police everything, including how the Umahara sisters helped them to escape. While Livy is forgiven for her part, having not known the plan, the Umahara sisters are prosecuted to the full extent of the law, ironically, because they are American citizens. The German POWs return to camp, and their lives are mostly unchanged. The U.S. government charges the Umahara sisters with treason and sentences them each to several years in prison. Livy never sees her friends again.

Despite the charming romance the book presents, the story of the Umahara sisters and how their lives are destroyed by the men they loved and trusted (very much like how Livy’s life was upended after a man used her) casts a dark shadow. Ann Howard Creel wrote “The Magic of Ordinary Days” with much empathy for these slightly non-fictional sisters, who were betrayed by their government and thus manipulated into betraying it. Whereas Livy had Ray and her protected status as a married white woman, the Umahara sisters only had each other and the small community they had formed at Camp Amache, a lonely, isolated place with few young men (as so many had been drafted into the army). The story has a historical precedent, but that doesn’t make it any less tragic.

The movie proceeds a little differently, with Livy immediately recognizing the POW despite his fake MP uniform and her crafting a clever plan to get rid of the POW without incriminating Rose and Florence. Livy’s plan to trap the POW is well-conceived and builds on smaller details shown throughout the movie. I never thought I’d say, “Good job on the story building, Hallmark,” but here I am, congratulating the writers. The resulting conclusion is a lot more satisfying in that Rose and Florence, who still learn their lesson, are not forced to pay for their mistakes with their lives. I’d argue it puts more emphasis on not punishing vulnerable women for making errors in judgment and on the importance of female friendships, as Livy puts herself at serious risk to help her friends.

The movie makes another significant change to the novel by bestowing adaptational hotness on its male main character, Ray Singleton. I was not a Skeet Ulrich fan before this movie, but after witnessing his tender performance as the strong, steady Ray, I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time looking up thirst edits of him. Despite his unfortunate first name, Skeet Ulrich is fine as hell. In the novel, Livy’s hesitance to get involved with Ray is completely understandable. He’s a stranger; they have no common interests, can barely hold a conversation, and want different things out of life. In the movie, though? I have no idea how she resisted riding the U.S.S. Dreamboat the minute she said, “I do.” If a guy who looked like that agreed to marry me to help me out of a bad situation, I’d somehow end up even more pregnant. Like, girl, you’re already pregnant, so let the man freak.

https://www.tumblr.com/lilskeeter/755985023338938368/skeet-ulrich-gif-pack

The relationship between Ray and Livy is complicated but feels genuine. He loves her from the moment he meets her, believing her and the baby sent by God, and is willing to wait for her to return his love. Livy is so angry with herself for her lapse in judgment that she refuses to open her heart to Ray despite her growing affection for him. Once she can accept his love into her life, it’s like a weight lifts off her shoulders, and she can be happy again. She’s suddenly excited about the birth of her child and her future with Ray, which at the beginning of the film, felt bleak.

Do I hate myself just the teensiest bit for loving a wholesome Hallmark movie? Yeah, obviously. That’s why I’m writing a blog post about it so that other people can watch this movie, it experiences a resurgence in popularity, and then Hallmark or some other production studio is required to either buy the rights to the book to remake it or create a sequel that takes place 20 years later in 1964.

And I do have ideas for how a sequel might look. I would also remind Hallmark that Keri Russel and Skeet Ulrich are both still extremely hot and could probably make space in their schedules for a sequel film about Ray and Livy navigating the war in Vietnam, the civil rights movement, and the unstoppable juggernaut of commercial farming.

Or, if any fanfiction authors feel inspired after watching the movie and want to theorize about what would happen next, I think there could be a lot to explore with Livy’s future as an amateur archaeologist in Otero County. On the surface, it may seem like Livy is out in the middle of nowhere, but Colorado has an incredibly rich archaeological history. The history of the indigenous people alone would keep any archaeologist fulfilled and engaged, not to mention the incredible paleological finds.

And if you’re going to twist my arm for more suggestions, I would be remiss not to mention the song “We Become We” from “Journey to Bethlehem.” Although weirdos have co-opted the audio from this song to describe their most off-putting ships (myself included), the song unironically describes the relationship between Livy and Ray.

Maybe it’s silly of me to be so invested, but I saw a lot of myself in Livy, and I like to think that a bright, highly educated woman could make a wonderful life for herself, even in a place where she would least expect it. As much as I love the warmhearted story of two unlikely people who fall in love, I think their love story would only be stronger if Livy could continue living out her dreams in an unlikely place. It may not be the lost city of Troy, but it is magical in its own way. So thanks, Hallmark, for my latest hyperfixation. Maybe you could make another decent movie for me to obsess about.