Fantastic Mr. Fox is the best Thanksgiving movie

Thanksgiving gets totally bulldozed by Christmas, doesn’t it? There are certainly far fewer shows and movies to watch to get in the spirit of the thing. Sure, we’ve got some Thanksgiving episodes and a handful of films explicitly or tangentially about the holiday, including the beloved-but-dated classic Planes, Trains And Automobiles, as well as a new slasher. But a good seasonal watch, something to be observed annually, can be hard to identify—at least if you plan to view it with the whole family. That’s where the stop-motion masterpiece Fantastic Mr. Fox comes in, a film that never acknowledges Turkey Day by name, but absolutely nails the vibe. If you’re a Common Sense Media checker, you’ll be glad to know that it’s rated 7+ (they even replace all the bad words with “cuss”) and it’s far more enjoyable for the adults among us than, say, Free Birds. With recent Roald Dahl adaptations now streaming, and the arrival of Thanksgiving itself, we need to revisit the first time Wes Anderson brought the author’s work to the screen as well as what makes it the most perfect seasonal centerpiece.

The premise of Fantastic Mr. Fox at least nods to Thanksgiving. Poultry thief-turned-newspaper man Mr. Fox (voiced by George Clooney) gets the itch to steal birds again, upsetting the local farmers and forcing him, and the rest of his animal pals, to flee as the human villains seek retribution. Foxy’s quest? To feast on birds. The farmers’ specialties? Farming ducks, geese, chickens, turkeys, and apples (and making cider from the apples that tastes and looks like “liquid gold”). Foodwise, that’s about as autumnal as it gets, unless you’re vegetarian, in which case root vegetables and mushrooms might be more your speed—and still, you can appreciate the apples.

Cozy fall vibes

The next most autumnal thing about the film: its aesthetic. Naturally, much has been made of the festive hues in this film. Mustard yellows, cranberry sauce mauves, all manner of browns, and pumpkin-y oranges grace the screen during the film’s entire run time. There is so much care taken with color throughout. We even get to watch Felicity Fox (Meryl Streep), a landscape painter and the titular character’s wife, mix up some paints while creating a tactical mural towards the end.

The textures are great in this, too: our heroes’ furry coats, gray cotton ball explosion smoke, the corduroy, the tweed. The fabrics here are really doing it for all of us fall fans. Deck yourself out in any one of these fluffy critters’ ’fits, and you will hands-down win at fall fashion annually (just skip the fox tail tie, please, will ya?) Stop-motion films, in general, have the edge on the tactile front, and this one is no exception. And while we’re talking sensory stuff, the soundtrack is spot-on: lots of banjo and mouth harp, a little ditty made up on the spot that one of the mean farmers denigrates as “bad songwriting,” and some tunes from the ’60s and ’70s, including bright tracks by the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, and—my favorite—”Love” from the soundtrack to Disney’s animated Robin Hood movie (another feature starring foxes).

Now, let’s talk sets: the warm-palette wallpaper in the Fox family’s tree home, Badger’s woodsy office built into a beaver dam, the picturesque hillsides carpeted in golden grasses, even the charming little human village with its quaint cobblestones. There are goddamn cranberry garlands in this thing, bedecking a makeshift dining hall in which the critters gather for a fireside feast while hiding from the big, bad humans. Plus, in my favorite homage to the holiday look, pregnancy news transforms both Mr. and Mrs. Fox into incandescent blow mold figurines, just like those vintage decorations we’ve seen hanging out in old church creches or getting kicked and beaten by Clark Griswold.

On-point family dynamics

You know how Thanksgiving brings out all kinds of weird family dynamics? Mr. Fox captures that, too. We’ve got a kid who’s not well-understood by his folks. “What’re you wearing? Why a cape with the pants tucked into your socks?” Mr. Fox asks his son Ash, who desperately seeks his dad’s approval, especially when it comes to being seen as an athlete like his old man. Ash is awkward socially, and seems to have one major bully and just one friend (Agnes)—that is until his cousin Kristofferson, who is athletically gifted, arrives, set to stay with the Fox family until his dad recovers from double pneumonia. At first, the boys don’t get along, with Ash demanding his poor cousin sleep beneath his train table if his guest must sleep in his room. Then, there’s a sweet scene where Ash hears Kristofferson quietly crying and, in a silent offering of fellowship, descends from his loft bed to activate his toy train, soothing Kristofferson and uniting the pair in a moment of shared joy as they watch it, illuminated and circling in the dark. They continue to waffle between conflict and connection until, of course, they learn from each other and develop a stronger sense of self through each other’s influence. Ash even accepts that Kristofferson and his pal Agnes have hit it off and begun dating by the end.

Acceptance is a bit of a theme in this film as well. Many of the characters are, as they indicate in the film, “(fingers fluttering)… different.” Mr. Fox is prone to impulsivity and has a phobia of wolves; his opossum friend Kylie (the best character) can sometimes go swirly-eyed and space out; Ash “dresses like a girl” and has a moody streak; Kristofferson meditates, which the Fox family sees as weird; and Mrs. Fox (as a “psychotic rat” security guard accuses) was “the town tart in her day,” marching against the social mores of her time. In a key moment, she’s the one who lays out the film’s central argument to her son, saying, “I know what it’s like to feel different… We all are … but there’s something kind of fantastic about that, isn’t there?” It’s a message we could all embody when gathered around the Thanksgiving table.

Reminders of community and gratitude

Community is another theme. All of the animals have to combine their talents to get those humans to leave them alone. It’s pretty adorable. Foxy lists off all of the animals’ Latin names and unique abilities. (Who knew badgers were demolition experts? “Explosions, flames, things that burn!” For the purpose of this movie, apparently they are.) Once their pricey tree on a hill has been tragically decimated, the Fox family relocates to a thriving subterranean apartment complex where the creatures can all live together and help each other. No one can say it’s a best-case scenario, but it at least suggests they have made a renewed commitment to each other’s safety and well-being after those people tried to take them down—that, at least, is nice.

Then, of course, there’s gratitude, abundantly represented in this film. Mr. Fox gives a toast to give thanks not once, but twice. His first attempt, during the feast they all share, is interrupted by a flood of cider, courtesy of the humans trying to wipe them out for snatching their chickens, apples, and such. The second time is in a supermarket, addressing his nearest and dearest, highlighting the bright sides to all that they’ve endured while trying to escape the villains of the film as well as their current circumstances, including both humorous observations like “They say all foxes are slightly allergic to linoleum—but it’s cool to the paw,” and poignant ones like, “They say our tree may never grow back—but, one day, something will.”

This is gratitude in the wake of some serious devastation, as fun and funny as this movie is. If you think deeply about the film’s events, it can stir up thoughts of atrocities past and present: mass displacement, attempts to wipe out communities. (Your kids won’t get that, though.) These animals we’re rooting for are refugees in this; it’s not a light thing. And it’s not a bad thing that Fantastic Mr. Fox acknowledges this either. In fact, that’s an even greater part of what makes this an apt Thanksgiving film. It calls us to remember the ones who are fighting for survival, even as our greatest challenge might just be to eat a little stuffing and candied yams in the presence of people who aren’t always that kind to us. Give it another watch, and you’ll see: it’s beautiful, it’s hilarious, it’s wholesome and a little dark. It’s un-cussing-believable.