When assessing November 2020 as a month, it would be easy for me to think that I’ve now experienced the whole spectrum of emotion. There is the dread of The 2020 American Presidential Election paving the way for enthusiastic relief (and tiredness) on the night that Georgia Turned Blue™. Then there was the lull a week later, where I was filled with unbearable loneliness that leads to some personal growth. Then, in the final days of the month, I have felt myself climbing out of that hole, out of a depression with a sense of accomplishment, the feeling that I have more to offer the world than my doubtful self believed a week ago. I had genuine laughter this Thanksgiving season, Still, what a trip November has been.
It may be why I latched onto Pieces of April (2003) wholeheartedly. In search of a Thanksgiving movie, I found Sunny recommending the film on Twitter. With nothing better to do, I pressed play and witnessed a film that spoke perfectly to my mentality this year. Even amid a story exploring dysfunctional family, I found hope in those still photos. They weren’t presented with a glossy coat of a holiday card. These were the imperfectly shot angles that will forever lay in a shoebox, waiting for future generations to find. The stories emerge, the emotions arising, and rarely has it felt this sincere. As someone who has become fond of old photographs, this is strangely the most touching part.
A lot of credit should be given the Peter Hedges, then of About a Boy (2002) fame. What he has done is create a narrative that fills in the gaps through absence. By removing one variable from the dueling plots, he’s capable of exploring the psychology behind April (Katie Holmes), whose initial appearance is that of a wayward girl. Her ex is a deadbeat and she lives in a shady part of town. Even the color of her polka dot shirt has this faded quality like she’s been forgotten. She’s a figure whom the audience already expects to disapprove of, finding her boyfriend pushing her out of bed to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner and prepare for a family visit.
The brilliance comes in how her story parallels with her family. Hedges has this ability to explore the annoying side of love without blowing it out into full melodrama. What he does instead creates characters who organically react to each other with these minor insecurities. In a scene where April’s father Jim (Oliver Platt) is pushing to get everyone on the road, he intrusively opens the door of daughter Beth’s (Allison Pill) room. It doesn’t matter that she’s still getting dressed. He is impatiently waiting to get going. Meanwhile, Joy (Patricia Clarkson) is already in the car, ready to get it over with. She has been diagnosed with breast cancer and the significance of this event weighs heavy on her. Is April even okay right now? It’s a timid reflection of love, making the proceeding car ride (in all of it petty, claustrophobic arguing) worth the sacrifice.
But it’s clear from Jim’s intrusiveness, his inconsequential arguments with son Timmy (John Gallagher Jr.), that there’s a small discomfort. Everyone has their worry. Without directly talking about April, there is an understanding of how she could feel misunderstood. As a family unit, her family has enough trouble cooperating for a car ride. It makes sense that April would struggle to be normal. We don’t see the real love that they share until the very end, but it comes through in several ticking clock scenarios that culminate in a perfect moment. It may not seem that way, what with a dinner in a sketchy apartment, but it speaks directly to what the holiday symbolizes. It’s pushing past our own biases to recognize what we love about each other, about family.
While the car ride is the bulk of the case study, there is something to be said for April’s own journey. The premise is perfect: she must bake a turkey. At least for my family, holiday cooking is a group activity that is as much about bonding as it is the food. It’s where true character is found, finding strategic questions of how long to roast the bird develops trust in character. It may be inconsequential, but the act is something that makes this time feel fuller. Together, we created that dinner and we can be thankful for it.
For April, it’s quite different. She must go about it alone, never quite knowing how to stuff everything in properly. She constantly finds shortcomings holding her back from a quick fix. By the time she needs a stove, it causes her to go door to door, asking for charity from anyone who is there.
While this is an act of gratitude, it’s more interesting to see this as Hedges reflecting how everyone spends the holidays. In some ways, it makes April’s family visit something even greater. There’s a loving couple who gives her encouragement on how to prepare food, playfully razzing her about having “white girl problems.” Later on, she runs into vegans and even an eccentric loner who has a pretty nice oven but is maybe a bit too uncomfortable to be around. It’s a reality that things could be different for April. While there’s no doubt that these people vary in their own personal happiness, the sense of working together explores the act of community versus family, and how the former is sometimes easier to trust.
In what may be my favorite moment of the film, April eventually finds herself turning to an Asian family. She initially ignores them because she worries that they don’t speak English. When lacking other options, she begins to talk about them and they exchange stories about their differing cultures. They’re a family who seems so infatuated with each other, whose welcome of April is the endearing sign of acceptance. For once, she feels part of somebody’s family, who doesn’t squabble over minor grievances. They’re helpful, optimistic, desiring to make the most of Thanksgiving.
But the moment that proves to me that Hedges packed this with so much more comes in a throwaway monologue. She starts by discussing the story of Pilgrims on The Mayflower. As she discusses their journey, there’s a shift to how they were alone in this new world. April becomes somber, making a connection that often gets ignored in holiday stories. With an emphasis on family, it’s hard to remember that some, like the people Pieces of April has encountered, are alone on this day. It’s a punctuation mark that alludes to some deeper pain, connecting the car ride revelations to her own personal life.
The turkey itself is her way of proving that she is so much more than a screw-up. Most people would likely see her at the start of the film and believe that she fails to make an edible feast. At best, her family will humor her for trying. To April, this is about making the most of a rare get-together, where she wants to prove that she’s done something more substantial with herself. From the small moments we’ve seen of her family, you can begin to assume what everyone else thinks. We already would assume that Jim harbors disappointment, that Beth and Timmy are barely trying to avoid arguments. Hedges can’t help but make us fear what would happen if this turkey doesn’t get done.
Like the car ride, the breast cancer, it’s all a ticking clock. Everything has to be done with specific precision. Minds have to be persuaded and everyone must learn to accept each other, even without seeing each other. It may be why Joy ends up being one of the most compelling characters, finding herself constantly agitated by Jim’s pessimism and sickness that thrusts her to every available bathroom. She is clearly pushing through in a gesture of love, which doesn’t always seem clear as they pass by monotonous scenery, crammed into closed space and not having a minute to stretch their legs and get away from a world that they’re burdened with.
It makes sense that the family narrative is cramped while the community one is spacious, uncertain, full of colorful characters that bestow varying forms of wisdom on April. The geography of this apartment complex is perfectly used, having every door present new mysteries. One of the greatest achievements of the film is how memorable the supporting cast is, which features the likes of: Isiah Whitlock Jr., Sean Hayes, Sisquo, Adrian Martinez, and Lillias White. I’m personally impressed with how every supporting player here is not only a recognizable name but how they make this indie drama pop. They all have interior lives, finding humanity shining through in how they respond to April’s actions. Nobody had to help April, and yet here they are proving the best that society can be.
On the surface, this is a very simple story about a dysfunctional family coming together for a holiday dinner. Had that been it, there’s a good chance that it would be this crass, empty gesture. Hedges knows that the emotional stake of that turkey is the heart of the film, and watching April lug it up and down stairs shows a sacrifice, her own independence and instincts shining through. With the absence of family to help, she finds the next best thing. Thanksgiving is supposed to be a holiday about coming together, and this conveys it in some of the most clever ways possible. It’s understated in how it approaches common decency, and it’s all the better for it.
By the end, Pieces of April is endearing because of how those final moments feel gratified. Those still photos capture gateways into lengthier conversations and moments that we don’t get to see. There’s so much life in this montage, and it makes the ending so beautiful. Even then, this wasn’t about the dinner itself. It was about a family proving their capability to love each other, to have something greater that they can offer. Whether it’s Joy pushing past her cancer to see her daughter or an Asian family saving April’s dinner, there are obstacles that are overcome for this moment.
There was a moment to the end where I feared Hedges had set up something more tragic, and the weight of it hurt a lot. The thought that everyone’s sacrifice was for naught made you fear what this ending could’ve been. Except, in a great moment of vulnerability, Joy watches a mother-daughter pair arguing in a bathroom stall. In a great piece of acting, she contemplates whether that’s how she wants her relationship to be, possibly reminding her of prior years. Even in the ambiguity, you find family reminding themselves why they love each other. Do they need space? Yes, but they also need to listen and care.
I suppose to me, the threat of loneliness is what makes this movie more powerful. While my Thanksgiving ended up being a fruitful event, I still have that fear of something going wrong, a good day made worse because somebody wouldn’t cooperate. Pieces of April teeters on that feeling even during its most compelling moments, and it’s what makes it one of the most honest, realistic Thanksgiving takes I’ve seen. It’s not overtly sentimental, relying more on forgiveness of flaws to carry everyone through.
As far as movies that symbolize what I think Thanksgiving could be, this one is surprisingly strong. For one that has a bare-bones structure, it makes the most of things and uses the iconography of a family dinner to convey everyone’s differences in meaningful ways. It’s become a bit of a hidden gem over the years, but I can only hope those that find it recognizes something warm and optimistic at its center, showing that the pain was worth it. Even as the family returns for the drive home, they now have photographs of this moment, to remember when everyone was happy. At the end of the day, memories are all that we have. It’s about making the most of them when we can.
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