By Douglas Wood
Rated PG-13
Currently streaming on Amazon Prime, Apple TV+ and YouTube
Holiday movies in which dysfunctional families vainly attempt to have picture-perfect Norman Rockwellesque celebrations are as plentiful as canned cranberry sauce on grocery shelves in November. Pieces of April, written and directed by Peter Hedges, is yet another entry into that crowded field, and while it occasionally succumbs to some of the genre’s clichés, it succeeds by virtue of its low-budget charm and its solid ensemble cast headed by Katie Holmes, playing the titular character with sweetness and grit.
April, the black sheep of the Burns family, has invited her estranged parents, siblings, and senile grandmother to Thanksgiving dinner at the tenement apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan she shares with her African-American boyfriend, Bobby (an endearing Derek Luke, the star of Antwone Fisher). It’s likely the final Thanksgiving the family will spend together; April’s mom, the ironically named Joy, is dying of breast cancer.
As portrayed by Patricia Clarkson, Joy is blatantly angry and bitter– and that’s when she’s on good holiday behavior. “She bit my nipples whenever I tried to breastfeed her,” she complains of April. Clearly, this woman holds a grudge. She’s also disdainful of her goody-goody younger daughter, Beth (Alison Pill), who sings insufferable songs from the backseat on the long drive from the suburbs into the city. “Any requests?” Beth asks. “That you stop,” Joy replies. Clarkson nearly walks off with the picture with her withering observations that barely mask her aching vulnerability. Trying to maintain one’s dignity in between bouts of vomiting isn’t easy, and the sight of Joy’s ill-fitting wig on such a pretty and refined face is heartbreaking.
Joy’s husband, Jim (Oliver Platt), is the family optimist, hoping against hope that this holiday outing won’t be as disastrous as everyone expects. Maybe rebellious April will pull off dinner despite her history. Maybe her boyfriend won’t be a loser. Maybe everyone will get along. Maybe. Platt’s performance is subtle and warm, at times funny. He’s the glue that keeps the family together—the only one with no ax to grind. He loves everyone in his own quiet way.
In the city, while Bobby is out looking for a suit to impress April’s family, April discovers her oven is broken. Her attempts to get help from the other tenants in her building comprise the bulk of the short (81 minutes) movie, intercut with her family’s journey. For everyone who has craved acceptance from judgmental parents, April’s mission will be highly relatable, and every obstacle, a little gut-wrenching. The stakes in this little indie film seem just as high as those in a superhero blockbuster in which the fate of the world is at risk—that turkey must get cooked.
It’s a surprisingly emotional premise that’s handled with sly observational humor by Hedges, who demonstrates in his directorial debut that he not only knows how to shoot a good story but also construct one, as he did as the author of the novel and screenplay for What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. In that film as in this one, Hedges displays much affection for his strikingly original characters. In April, the ethnically diverse tenants who rise to the occasion with their humanity and compassion evoke emotion without a trace of sappiness. The one exception is April’s neighbor, Wayne, played by Sean Hayes (Will & Grace), a stylized character whose formal verbal affectations might’ve worked on the page but come off as stilted and overly theatrical in execution.
The film was shot with a hand-held digital camera, ideal for the intentionally claustrophobic settings, whether we’re in the cramped family car or April’s grimy apartment building. Restricted mostly to close-ups or medium shots, the film is intimate, and Holmes has scaled her delicate performance accordingly. In her grunge outfit, she’s determined and intrepid, lugging around that turkey or shoving a full onion up its ass. In her scenes with Bobby, she’s playful and tender. When she lovingly designs personalized place cards for the dining table, we hold our breath—is she in for an idyllic reconciliation or a brutal fail?
The somewhat truncated ending is accomplished mostly via snapshots and images without dialogue, accompanied by the romantic song, “One April Day” by Stephin Merritt (of the band Magnetic Fields) who also did the soundtrack. One may question why we’re denied seeing the final scene fully dramatized. Did the filmmakers run out of money? Out of time? Both are likely, given the minuscule budget of the film. Or perhaps the more minimal approach was intentional, sparing us an overly explicit denouement in which everything is spelled out. This would be in keeping with the modest sensibility of this little gem of a film. In any case, this unassuming holiday classic is something to be thankful for.