The Holdovers review – the most scin­til­lat­ing fes­tive movie in years

For the last decade, it seemed that Alexan­der Payne had lost his touch. After the crit­i­cal suc­cess of Nebras­ka in 2013, the Amer­i­can direc­tor fell short with 2017’s Down­siz­ing, a messy film fea­tur­ing a thumb-sized Matt Damon unrecog­nis­able from Payne’s ear­ly comedic mas­ter­pieces. His high­point came with the effer­ves­cent Side­ways from 2004, a gen­tle and deli­cious com­e­dy about a wine-soaked road trip.

The essen­tial ingre­di­ent for that film was Paul Gia­mat­ti, who takes on his first lead­ing role in years as clas­sics pro­fes­sor Paul Hun­ham for Payne’s The Holdovers. The direc­tor and actor work togeth­er like port and Stil­ton at the end of a col­lege feast, blend­ing with ease into the film’s 1970s 35mm aes­thet­ic, cour­tesy of cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Eig­il Bryld. There’s the sense of home­com­ing after an ardu­ous win­ter term. Rather feel­ing indul­gent­ly nos­tal­gic, it is easy to for­get that the film was made in the 21^st century.

Hun­ham is a cur­mud­geon­ly old sod, adorned with fusty cor­duroy and a rov­ing glass eye. He berates his pupils as Philistines for not know­ing their Tac­i­tus from their Mar­cus Aure­lius, and rejects the warmth of a Christ­mas cook­ie from the col­leagues he dis­trusts. He is no beloved Mr. Chips or inspi­ra­tional John Keat­ing, main­tain­ing a more Hen­ry Hig­gins-like reluc­tance to be liked. This per­sists into the Christ­mas hol­i­days, when he is tasked with super­vis­ing stu­dents who can­not go home for one rea­son or anoth­er – the ​‘holdovers’ of the title.

Payne com­bines his whole­some Hal Ash­by tex­tures with the school­boy­ish charms of Wes Anderson’s Rush­more – although his stu­dent pro­tag­o­nist, Angus Tul­ly, is much savvi­er than Max Fis­ch­er. The major­i­ty of The Holdovers is played between Hun­ham and Tul­ly, a remark­able debut per­for­mance from Dominic Ses­sa, who pat­ter through writer David Hemingson’s end­less­ly wit­ty repar­tee with flair. Their exchanges recall the charms of Woody Allen’s autum­nal mas­ter­pieces, played out over roast din­ners and cosy jazz-scored soirées.

There is a warmth to being in the cin­e­mat­ic pres­ence of this two­some that melts away the frosty world out­side. Payne’s pitch-per­fect pac­ing allows both Hun­ham and Tul­ly to soft­en before our eyes, craft­ing a hilar­i­ous and mov­ing teacher-stu­dent rela­tion­ship. But it is nev­er sac­cha­rine, or insuf­fer­ably insu­lar in its board­ing school set­ting. Da’Vine Joy Ran­dolph makes sure of that as the cook Mary Lamb who serves as our in, and our out, from this cushy space of priv­i­leged learn­ing. Her son was a pupil at the school as a perk of her employ­ment, and while his peers went on to become lawyers and aca­d­e­mics, he was killed in Viet­nam. Ran­dolph del­i­cate­ly bal­ances the character’s grief and humour, always at hand to call out the men and to add poignan­cy to Hemingson’s script.

The trio’s com­pa­ny is so embrac­ing that it is hard to say good­bye. The ben­e­fit of the Yule­tide set­ting is that Payne has gift­ed us a film intend­ed to be watched every year. It feels like find­ing an unwatched clas­sic under the tree on Christ­mas morning.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

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