Speculative commercial idea for Hallmark, for Thanksgiving of 2019.
The preferred version:
An elderly grandmother labors in the kitchen, assembling side dishes for a bountiful thanksgiving dinner; in the background is the rowdy chatter of a large family, in the living room, and the tinny accompaniment of a parade on TV. Her son (early-fifties) slips into the kitchen and gently asks if she needs any help; she shakes her head ‘no’ and waves him off; after a beat he returns to the living room.
The grandmother carries some of her freshly-prepared side dishes into the dining room, then lights two new candles near the heads of the table; a few members of the family look over from the living room, quickly glancing at her—concerned—but turning away before she notices. She expertly unloads a stack of plates, setting the table and placing silverware, but pausing at the end while placing the last fork… staring off, then looking down and concluding its placement. She walks back into the kitchen.
In the living room, most of the family members look to the son for reassurance, silently asking if they should get involved or not, but he eases them with the exposing of his palm. He rises to his feet and crosses the floor, creeping toward the kitchen; meanwhile, two of the family members look back toward the entertainment center—not at the TV, which continues playing the parade, but rather at one of framed photos resting on top of it.
The grandmother carries the turkey into the dining room and places it in the center of the table, completing the banquet spread. She hollers softly, “Dinner’s ready,” then returns briefly to the kitchen. The family turns-off the TV and rise to their feet, trickling into the dining room and taking their seats in silence… The son takes the long way to his chair, rounding the far head of the table and dragging his hand along the top of the tall head chair as he passes. The family members unfurl their napkins onto their laps, murmuring with excitement to one another; some begin sipping at their wine or water, and some prematurely shift food onto their plates—like bread rolls, scoops of stuffing, and cold slices of canned cranberry sauce.
As the grandmother reenters the dining room, removed of her apron and with her hands washed, the room falls silent. She slowly takes her place at the low head of the table, and everyone looks to her, waiting… but her gaze doesn’t waver, transfixed on the far head of the table (looking past the camera) whose tall chair sits empty, and on the table before it is an empty place setting with folded napkin and single awry fork.
The son realizes what's missing, and he rises from his seat, quickly and quietly slipping into the living room, stopping before the entertainment and pausing briefly to select one of the framed photos in particular; then, as stealthily as he left, he returns, again passing his seat to the far head of the table, whereupon he sets a framed photo of the grandmother's late husband: a sepia-toned photograph of when he was young, in a WWII uniform and handsome as ever).
Grandmother’s eyes glisten and a slight bittersweet smile emerges, cracking the composed façade of her expression. Her son returns to his seat, and the grandmother takes his hand gently and squeezes, looking to him and smiling—still bittersweet, but big and warm, and gracious. He replies to her sad smile with his own.
The family members take hands with one another and lower their heads, and the son begins to lead them in the saying of grace—only, very shortly into it, the grandmother gently lifts her head, to steal a glance at her late-husband’s photograph; sharing his gaze and, surrounded by the family they created, she smiles again—only, this time, brighter, baring her teeth as a watery sheen fills her eyes.
Cut to wide-shot of the full family and table, and the title fades up: “Hallmark”.
Or, this version, as the idea came to me originally:
An elderly grandmother labors in the kitchen, assembling side dishes for thanksgiving dinner; in the background are the tinny faraway sounds of the annual parade playing on the TV. The oven timer dings and she puts-on oven mitts before checking the turkey inside…
She carries the fully-dressed, golden-brown turkey into the dining room and sets it in the center of the table; then she retreats and returns with all of her side dishes, placing them neatly…
She strides into the living room—the parade sounds growing louder as she nears the TV—and she presses ‘pause’ on her VCR, freezing the imagery and sound of the parade: one from almost two decades ago, as said imagery would indicate. She turns-off the television, too, and returns to the dining room, taking her seat before one of only two table settings; the other, adjacent to hers, at the head of the table, whose chair is empty. She drapes her napkin onto her lap and she looks to the head of the table, but not at the empty seat: at the framed photo of her late-husband (a young man in a WWII uniform) which sits behind the plate. She pauses, smiles bittersweet, and she begins to plate her food.
Title fades up: “Hallmark”.
Original document created 01/03/2018.