Is 'Everybody's Fine' One of the Most Underrated Christmas Movies Ever?

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My biggest fear of having kids is this: watching them being little and carefree would grant me a chance to partially relive the joy and freedom of my own childhood that I frequently long for. Just so it can get ripped away from me once again as they age and eventually leave the nest. I don’t know if I could bear that existential pain one more time — especially since I’d be in my 50s, likely ten times as sentimental as I am now, left with nothing but yearning for better and younger days.

There isn’t a quasi-holiday movie that articulates that bittersweet and poignant feeling better than Kirk Jones' Everybody’s Fine (the 2009 remake of Giuseppe Tornatore’s 1990 Italian original).

Watching a 60-something Robert De Niro travel the country in trains and buses to pay a surprise visit to his four children (who all bail on his invitation to come home) in a small-scale drama has a potent, empathetic simplicity. Besides its plain yet moving script, that’s mainly due to a masterfully restrained performance by De Niro — fully in control of his mannerisms — playing a universal but hard-to-convey dad that everybody recognizes but doesn't necessarily know in depth. His character, Frank, is only a stereotype until he lets us discover the many layers of his sincere emotions and complex relationship with his children.

That’s to say: If I had kids, I’d likely view them as Frank does. Though his sons and daughters (played by a terrifically picked cast) are all grown-ups now, whenever he glances at them, he always sees their younger selves first — and we do, too. It’s a simple yet affecting directorial touch that never fails to bring me to tears. We see Amy (Kate Beckinsale), Robert (Sam Rockwell), Rosie (Drew Barrymore), and David (Austin Lysy) as adults as well as innocent and animated kids (their child actor counterparts are just as fantastic). Those moments are mere glimpses into the past — in passing — conveying an inescapable sadness of how time slips through our fingers whenever we try to get a hold of it.

To Frank, every one of his children is a success story. When he talks about them to unsuspecting strangers during his trip, his eyes glow with pride and affection. But reality doesn’t necessarily coincide with the picture he built in his mind. They’re all flawed and riddled with struggles (whether personal or professional), and Frank has no clue about those because his late wife was the emotional support system who they shared them with instead of him. He was the strict, working-class father, the provider who always talked a lot but rarely listened. Now, as a widow, Frank knows this has to change and that it will take a tremendous effort on his part to facilitate it.

One of the most heartfelt aspects of Everybody’s Fine is that it doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable and heavy moments between parent and child. Those that break the veil of the former’s idealization once reality sets in within each visit. Amy's marriage is in the toilet, Robert isn't a conductor but a replaceable percussionist in the city's orchestra, Rosie hides a huge secret, and David is MIA with drug problems. Frank slowly realizes that his kids are far from the flawless, idealized versions he thought they were — but that doesn’t stop him from loving them just the same.

As an immigrant who only sees his (separated) parents once a year, I know all about those out-of-sync moments, awkward silences, and reserved surface-level conversations more than I’d like to. The emotional and social gaps between parent and child, widened by drastically different lifestyles and worldviews, which can rarely be bridged over in a single visit to rekindle the meaningful connection you had with your folks when you were young. It's a natural transition that becomes harder and harder to bear as we age — but such is life.

Frank's surprise visit isn't welcomed by his kids for various reasons. It’s not that they don’t appreciate it. They’re just so caught up in their own lives, circumstances, and harbouring a devastating secret that they don't want to deal with him on top of everything — at least not yet. Everybody’s Fine understands this nuisance and doesn’t judge its characters (or the viewer) for evading it. It’s the film’s bravura and magic that despite the initial roughness of those encounters, it manages to mine beautifully earnest flickers of happiness and affection, the kind that only occurs between parent and child. A smile, gesture, or act that incidentally captures and expresses the inherent love we feel but can't always put into words or actions.

Strictly speaking, Everybody’s Fine is only marginally a Christmas movie. The holiday takes place at the end of it in a matter of minutes, stricken by grief and wounded hearts, but it’s also infused with a hopeful warmth because Frank is finally surrounded by his kids in their childhood home, and (almost) everybody's fine. Their idyllic get-together is how Christmas should feel — and how it used to be when we were all kids, overzealous with excitement — and not like the burden of having to listen to unpleasant family members we see once a year about the never-ending cycle of politics and other loathed topics that it has become.

I can’t fathom why both critics and audiences hated it when it came out because, to me, it’s one of those all-time favorite dramas that always hits home without fail — whether it’s watched during the holidays or on a perfectly ordinary Sunday afternoon in July.

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Next week, I’ll be coming with a Top 10 of my favorite movies and TV shows of 2024 (same as last year), which will be the final newsletter of The Screen in 2024. Then, in January, I’ll return with more Horror Aughts, An Hour of Peak TV, the second installment of my Bird Horror series, alongside a new column that I can’t wait to finally launch. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of my readers! Thank you for sticking with me. I appreciate all of you more than you think.