Flasz On Film

In my estimation, the cinema of Alexander Payne has always remained just a few notches removed from that of Noah Baumbach, in that – all things considered – it has been predominantly interested in taking the temperature of the American society. However, in contrast to Baumbach, whose proclivities lay squarely in the realm of understanding the woes of American intelligentsia, Payne’s ambitions tended to be wider… though still similar by volume.  

Mathematically speaking, increasing the surface area of a pool while keeping its volume constant can only mean that its depth will be affected. Therefore, whenever Payne’s cinema ventured towards making broader, more all-encompassing comments about the society at large (see Downsizing for example), the quality of his work would vastly diminish because the exploration would come across as shallow, while his more localized and concentrated efforts like Election and About Schmidt tended to navigate their thematic ambitions much more gracefully, and therefore incisively.  

The Holdovers, in this regard, is a much welcome return to form because it recalibrates Payne’s ambitions and trains them on localized subjects, while still remaining married to the idea of hiding a larger-scope conversation underneath the thin epidermis of the narrative… which is simply put way more interesting to decode and experience, as opposed to a straight-up satire a barely-schooled neanderthal would have no problem mapping onto their own interpretation of the world around them. At this point you might have a general idea that – much like many others – I did not care one iota about Downsizing, which to this day I view as a true nadir of Payne’s filmmaking career.  

But we’re not here to moan and groan about Honey, I Shrunk America. We’re here to raise the glass for Payne who, together with David Hemingson who penned the script (who knows? Maybe this is what Payne needed – a collaborator whose hand would help him recalibrate his sights), opted to scale back, narrow his field of vision and in a way return thematically (at least in part) to where his filmmaking career began, which is a school campus where he’d attempt to encapsulate whatever it is the movie is trying to say about the world. However, The Holdovers makes a few interesting artistic decisions that only serve to elevate its standing way above any possible comparisons with Payne’s debut Election, because the movie is made to look as though it was made in the 70s… though I am reliably informed it was shot digitally. Arguably, because it is cheaper and easier to (and as it turns out just as reliable) to imitate a worn-out 16mm aesthetic using modern means.  

Nevertheless, despite its artistic ambition to function as a high-class 70s cosplay, The Holdovers isn’t a period piece per se. It uses the language of one merely to use a few elements of historical context (such as the Vietnam War, for example) to make a point and to comment about the present day. Because, as far as the filmmakers are concerned, not much has changed since then and not only do the same societal problems persist unperturbed in the society at large, but they have since become exacerbated and turbocharged by the ever-expanding chasm of wealth inequality. Therefore, if you watch this movie and see it as a nod to Hal Ashby’s Harold and Maude or Bob Rafelson’s Five Easy Pieces – good. They’re here for a reason and not necessarily to underscore your effortless prowess in identifying movies the filmmaker might be referring to. They are here to tell you that America – as far as the filmmakers seem concerned – hasn’t changed a whole lot since then. You can stage a de facto fancy dress party that looks like the 70s and deals with seemingly 70s problems, and it still rings true in the context of what’s happening all around us today.  

And – thank heavens – it is skilfully localized and encapsulated in a narrative about a teacher left to supervise a small group of students over the holiday period at a prestigious boarding school with a strong emphasis on exploring a key relationship between the teacher Paul Hunham (Paul Giamatti in probably the performance of his entire career) and one particularly rebellious student Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa, for whom I believe this movie is a feature debut), as opposed to attempting a broad-strokes allegory of any kind.  

As the story unfolds as a medley of loosely bound together vignettes of varying size and narrative significance, The Holdovers weaves them into a mosaic that all together adds to an intricate conversation about class, race and wealth, all of which have continued to be a trio of issues defining the woes of the American society. Somewhere between conversations about Greek philosophers, musings on Roman conquerors and gigglings about finding outright pornography etched into antique pottery, Payne finds the right frequency to use The Holdovers as a staging ground for a much-needed sit-down with his viewership where he’d use the iconography of Rafelson and Ashby to subtly steer them towards understanding that America as the filmmaker sees it continues unabated in its now clearly perplexing denial of reality.  

Through the character of Mary, the cafeteria lady (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) who is also stuck with those pesky men in the holding pattern over the Christmas period, the movie touches with requisite aptitude and subtlety on both the subjects of scathing class inequality (that is also heavily influenced by the countries continually unresolved racial problems) and the often-overlooked problem of America recklessly disposing with lives and livelihoods of its young men. This latter subject is further explored elsewhere in the film – in fact, everywhere else in the film – but it is nonetheless rather instructive to focus on this side-story so-to-speak, exactly because it is presented as a garnish to everything else. But it remains of equal importance. After all, the filmmakers come back to this micro-drama of a bereaved mother who lost her son – who also went to this prestigious boarding school and only because his mum worked there, by the way; he’d have stood no chance of getting accepted otherwise – in the Vietnam War. Where he went to pay for a college degree he otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford.  

Admittedly, this sub-story comes in and out of existence throughout the film, but it nonetheless illustrates one of the many problems gentlemen of stature and importance prefer not to discuss at cocktail parties because it sours the mood; which is that young men – often from minority backgrounds and working classes – are viewed as cannon fodder. Completely and utterly disposable and that their suffering only matters insofar as it advances a political message or allows one to lead a communal prayer for forty-five minutes. Other than that, the general societal advice is to keep your suffering to yourself, which is what Mary does, until she cannot hold it in any longer. 

In fact, her story distils into a single character the key part of the journey other characters (specifically Angus and Paul) are on as well – the combination of societal insignificance and some kind of a from-the-top requirement for certain demographics to simply roll over and perish. Preferably in silence, so that they wouldn’t disturb the neighbours. What following Angus, a rowdy rebel, and Paul, a stern teacher, as they interact both with each other and the outside world add to the unfolding conversation Payne wants to have with the society at large is an opportunity to engage the viewer about another often-overlooked and even more frequently twisted and politicized problem – the mental health crisis touching the entire society.  

Both Angus and Paul are on antidepressants. They both struggle with problems they prefer not to talk about. In fact, many of the side-characters in the film, such as other titular holdovers many of whom eventually disappear in a helicopter, probably do, too. The movie assumes we’d probably pick out a few key lines here and there suggesting or inferring that this prestigious boarding school is a dumping ground for boys whose parents can afford not to deal with their issues and instead outsource their upbringing. Like in Dead Poets Society. It’s a place for outcasts who need attention and connection and who instead are given medications to shut them up, because – naturally – when you no longer pipe up about your problems, it surely must mean you’re getting better and that you are no longer an embarrassing problem.  

In fact, this angle to the story is perhaps the most important. Angus and Paul choose not to talk about their hang-ups. They are prescribed meds that keep them in line and only after they open to each other, they are given permission to make changes in their lives. This comes towards the end of the film when Angus and Paul pay a visit to Angus’s father, who is institutionalized in a mental hospital. Which takes place, if I remember correctly, shortly after (or maybe before) Paul admitting having been expelled from Harvard. Admittedly, once you outline these ideas on paper, they look at least a tiny bit heavy-handed, but I promise you they are not. The filmmakers treat these ideas with exquisite subtlety and instigate this potentially wide-reaching conversation about male mental health and how much of an awkward burden it seems to be for others in a manner that is equally powerful as it is restrained.  

It is almost too easy to overlook, which is quite frankly ironic in its own right. However, if you pay attention and stay connected to where the movie wants you to look at, you’ll have no problems identifying it as the de facto beating heart of this movie. Hence, The Holdovers functions thematically quite a bit like that Ashby or Rafelson movie. It’s not just a shallow ode to those filmmakers confined to aesthetics and a few choice references, but rather a thematic descendant of what Five Easy Pieces and Harold and Maude were trying to get at at the time when they were originally released. It’s both a celebration of self-actualization and a portrait of defiance of authority that also carries out an intricate sermon about the kinds of problems we choose to look away from and pretend they either don’t exist at all or that they simply do not concern us.