Pieces Of April Is The Best Thanksgiving Movie You Forgot To Watch

Everyone remembers cooking their first turkey for Thanksgiving. I know I sure do: I was 23 years old, living in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, and making my first full-fledged Thanksgiving dinner for my boyfriend, his two friends, and my roommate. It was both a stressful and exciting time where nothing went smoothly, yet everything turned out perfectly. Which is how I would describe the Thanksgiving dinner that April Burns (Katie Holmes) attempts to master in Pieces of April, a 2003 indie drama about both culinary disasters and the disasters we call families — and how, sometimes inexplicably, we keep wanting to show up for them... even if our execution is messy.

I remember watching this movie back when it was first released. I was 21 (around April's age), and I related to April's need for independence and freedom, as well as her urge to impress her family with who she is now: an adult who is trying really hard at adulting. While I was a couple of years away from cooking my own first Thanksgiving dinner, as a sophomore at NYU, I was eager to break free from dorm living and experience that type of autonomy. Even if it seems super stressful at the time, there's something so exhilarating about stumbling around and figuring life out on your own terms, not your family's. I can relate to it even now, as a woman in my early 40s.

So, in preparation for Thanksgiving this year, I decided to rewatch the Peter Hedges film to find out if the performances and story really hold up.

Pieces of April revisited

April is the family screw-up turned accidental hostess who decides to invite her estranged family into her tiny, possibly haunted New York apartment for Thanksgiving. Spoiler alert: Things do not go as planned.

She's a hot mess in the most endearing way. It's Katie Holmes with a nose ring before she had a real nose ring! Her hair is half-red, her eyeliner is thick, and she's pierced up. She's kind of like if your high school's rebellious goth came back to town and decided she was going to roast a turkey as an apology for stealing your eyeliner that one time.

Instead, April is roasting a turkey to possibly apologize for her existence, or at least for creating hell on earth for her parents — particularly her mother, played by Patricia Clarkson, who is dying from cancer.

Holmes leans into April's scrappiness, giving her a chaotic charm that makes you root for her, even when she's obviously out of her depth. Watching her navigate her kitchen is like watching someone try to defuse a bomb with salad tongs: You know disaster is imminent, but you hope she figures it out.

Relatable(ish) family dynamics

While April is busy battling poultry and malfunctioning appliances, her family is on a road trip to her apartment—a journey that feels like a mix of National Lampoon's Vacation and group therapy gone wrong. And, honestly, who can't relate to a bit of family dysfunctionality during the holidays?

Leading the charge is April's sharp-tongued mother, Joy, played by Clarkson, who earned a Best Supporting Actress nomination for her role. Joy delivers a number of biting one-liners and is also kind of cray?

We're introduced to her sitting stiffly in the family station wagon, fully dressed, her expression stoic as the rest of the household remains blissfully asleep. It's a jarring image, and one that I don't know is totally realistic. It definitely makes a statement — just like when she makes her son steal a scooter at the back of a restaurant so they can secretly drive to April's apartment. But hey, she's dying and exhausted, so I guess she's entitled to her little quirks!

Her husband, Jim (Oliver Platt), is the human equivalent of a shrug emoji, trying to keep the peace while navigating his wife's illness, his children's dysfunction, and the open road. We all know a Jim, right?

The rest of the family — including April's chipper-yet-bitter sister, an introverted brother who spends most of the trip documenting everything on his camera like a 2003 social media influencer, and a grandmother with dementia — are also along for the awkward ride, which includes reminiscing about childhood memories gone horribly wrong, and then for some reason, stopping to have an impromptu funeral for roadkill. (That was weird.)

An ode to black sheep

Back in the city, April's Thanksgiving prep spirals into a comedy of errors.

Her oven breaks just as she's about to put in the turkey, forcing her to beg her eccentric neighbors for help, including Sean Hayes as an overly dramatic germaphobe with a very deep, strange voice, who treats her turkey like it's a ticking biohazard. Other neighbors range from vaguely helpful to outright bizarre and rude. If you've ever hosted Thanksgiving and prayed the oven doesn't break down, you'll feel April's pain.

And then there's Bobby (Derek Luke), April's golden retriever boyfriend, who spends the day running errands and dodging potential muggers, one of whom I think was April's ex-boyfriend. I don't know why we needed this sub-plot, but indie movies back then typically didn't trim the fat. It could be to show that at least April has someone in her life who has her back because her family's loyalty to her is... well, questionable.

At one point, I thought, Does anyone related to April actually like April? What did she possibly do that was so reprehensible? So she burned one of her sibling's hair when she was young! Does that mean you cut all ties and hold a grudge for life?

The TL; DR

So, does it hold up? Yes and no. Because it's one of those indie movies that rarely exists in our current cinematic landscape, I think its moments of messiness are part of its charm — kind of like April.

Without giving too much away, the film's climax brings the family together in a way that feels earned, not forced. The Thanksgiving meal isn't perfect (what holiday meal ever is?), but it's real, and the inclusion of April's neighbors is heartwarming and not in a cheesy way.

Pieces of April is one of those under-the-radar Thanksgiving movies that doesn't receive nearly enough love and attention compared to its other turkey dinner counterparts, like Trains, Planes & Automobiles or Home for the Holidays, but is one that I think a lot of people especially understand this time of year.

It's a film that pinpoints the ever-relatable theme that family is messy, life is unpredictable, and sometimes the turkey is dry — but that doesn't mean it's not worth the effort. At least you can say you tried, and sometimes that's the best we can do.