Human existence is an inherently self-centered one. When we suffer, it’s as though we are the only ones to have ever suffered, and to have suffered this profoundly. We know this way of thinking is illogical, but when we are actually going through something devastating, it’s understandably difficult to rationalize it with a “Well, I’m sure someone else has been through this, so I’m not alone and my pain isn’t that hard”. But though our specific difficulties vary in detail, we all hurt in some way. It’s just an ordeal of the highest degree to recognize that same hurt in others.

Paul Giamatti’s ill-tempered high school teacher Paul Dunham is almost instantly likable to the audience. He has the best lines in the film and can make you laugh with his perfect facial expressions. It’s also glaringly apparent why his students despise him; who on earth would want to be taught by him? What’s less obvious, however, is his inner melancholy. Paul is a man who understands the way people perceive him and has made his peace with that, but every so often you get a glimpse of a softer side of him. Every so often, you get to see a man who wants to love and be loved, but has long since accepted that human connection is not in the cards for him. Every so often, Paul devastates you with an earnest insight that is oh so relatable. And as Paul warms up to the cast of characters around him, it’s a near impossible feat to not have your heart warmed by the emotional resonance or your cheeks warmed by the tears running down them.

Relationships are a two-way (or in this case a three-way) street, however, and the characters in question who Paul develops bonds with are equally compelling. The mischievous high schooler Angus (played by a terrific Dominic Sessa) is a delight, and every scene he shares with Paul is electric. But where Paul reveals his inner turmoil with sad glances and thoughtful conversations, Angus acts out and makes rash decisions. He’s a teenager, after all, and you can’t ever really blame him for the circumstances he puts others in. Not after you piece together the circumstances he was raised under, which is part of what makes Angus’s relationship with Paul so moving. The other aspect that makes this killer dynamic the beating heart of the film is how authentic their connection is. You buy every argument they have, every quiet moment of reflection they share, and every boisterous bit of banter they partake in. 

And then we have the cafeteria manager, Mother Mary, whose stunning performance by Da’Vine Joy Randolph brought tears to my eyes before we knew a thing about her. Mary’s pain is the most evident of the trio, as the loss of her son has clearly left a hole inside of her that she’s unable to fully process. She is also the most underwritten of our main cast and doesn’t quite have the same nuances Paul and Angus have to them. It’s a relief, then, that Randolph is such an exceptional actress that we mostly cannot tell. She carries each of Mary’s scenes with so much strength and grace that it’s impossible to not get swept into her world. Her dynamics with Paul and Angus are both breathtakingly tender, so despite not having the most nuanced writing, we nonetheless get a firm sense of who Mary is and why she is integral to this film. 

Each of these characters begins the film with their own inner despair. Each of these characters leaves the film still having that inner despair. But over the course of The Holdovers, a witty yet powerful illustration of the importance of genuine human connection, these characters gradually learn about each other’s struggles. And though these characters realistically still have their issues at the end of the day, they also have an understanding that they’re not alone. They aren’t the only people in the world who don’t feel right. That, I believe, is the best gift The Holdovers has to offer us.

9.5/10