As a heartbreaking character study and an account of adolescence plus lasting pain, The Holdovers quickly became a timeless holiday staple. Truly, I re-watched it earlier and couldn’t believe that this movie is only a year old because it feels like I’ve been watching it for decades. It’s a relatable film for a myriad of reasons, but the moment that really cements how special it is during the needle drop of Cat Stevens/Yusuf’s “The Wind.”
Right before the somber cords strike, Angus (Dominic Sessa) tells Paul Hunham that his way of teaching in this museum is much more appealing than how he does it in the classroom. He follows up with, “Most of the kids dislike you—pretty much hate you. The teachers, too. You know that, right?” And Paul Giamatti delivers the most subtly heartbreaking expression that indicates to viewers how those words affect him.
This Christmas, Wicked is the film everyone’s running to the theatre for, and it’s an interesting parallel to draw to Elphaba’s dance at the Ozdust Ballrom. Because, as Glinda points out, she does care what people think of her. The people who hurt the most always care, yet sometimes, the pain runs so deep that you’d rather not fight back. Make no mistake, this isn’t to say that there are any similarities between Paul Hunham and a woman like Elphaba, but I find it achingly haunting how this message continues to be something we could all use to remember. Today, especially.
The interesting thing about Paul in The Holdovers is that while he yells constantly and sticks to his way of teaching, he still looks out for his students. He isn’t a complete monster—or one at all—and Paul shows this as he watches Angus skate through the park while he marinates over those words. There’s also something indisputably brilliant about using “The Wind” at this moment because, paired with Giamatti’s performance, it’s the perfect song to highlight the painstaking loneliness hidden underneath a tough facade.
Where I’ll end up where I think, well, only God really knows. This is also the moment where we can see that the uncertainties of Paul’s future are a direct result of his actions. In the end, he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. When Mary and Lydia point out that he needs to give the boys a proper Christmas, he does. When Angus is about to be sent away after visiting his father, Paul claims it was his idea and risks getting fired from Barton instead. His actions establish how much he cares because those words cut deeper than anything he’s been told before.
And Angus’ words aren’t a revelation. Paul knows that people don’t like him—he pretends he doesn’t care, except hearing it in a moment where it’s coupled with a compliment reminds him (and shows us) that he does care. Anyone with a heart will care what people think of them. It’s why they continue to do the right thing even while grumbling about how it ruins their plans and solitude. (Oh, no, now I’m having all sorts of feelings about Paul Hunham and the Grinch.) Ultimately, that’s the difference between Paul and a true villain, whether in fiction or in the real world—a true villain would never sacrifice their own comfort for someone else’s joy.
And yet, the opposite is precisely what ensures that The Holdovers stand out. It’s a film that underscores how daunting loneliness truly is. It’s a narrative about sons and father figures trying to do their best despite the cards they’ve been dealt. This scene, in particular, features additional close-up shots, nudging us to look inward at the character’s crumbling mask. It’s incredible, really, how people skate by him while he continues to contemplate—how Angus’ smile grows bigger and more genuine. Things begin to shift here, and it’s restorative to watch it happen.
An outstanding and memorable needle drop amplifies the scene with depth in every area—sound, sight, and sentiments. There are countless incredible moments in The Holdovers, but I’d argue that this is in the top five. It’s certainly the most impactful where music is concerned, and years from now, I imagine it’ll continue to evoke one profound reaction after another. Loneliness within the world isn’t something that I imagine will ever end, and that’s most certainly not the case when we have so much hatred for minority groups today.
The film is set in the 70s, yet the message remains tragically true. Everyone wants to be appreciated, and no one wants to be despised. No one wants to be remembered for their mistakes, even when there’s sadness and bitterness coiling in their hearts, making it increasingly difficult to do the right thing. Yet, it’s during this scene that it becomes unmistakable to every viewer that Paul Hunham is determined to take those words to heart and look out for Angus until the bitter end. And well, that he does.
First Featured Image Credit: ©Focus Features