Back in 2016, I wrote a column in which I declared that The Last Waltz is the best Thanksgiving movie. “It affirms the faith in the power of ritual to heal — at least temporarily — whatever is awkward or unresolved or plain broken about your familial bonds,” I wrote. “Sometimes, that belief is just enough to make things okay for a little while.” Last year, I invited friend of the pod Hanif Abdurraqib to revisit the film with me, and marvel at the majesty of Van Morrison’s purple suit and Robbie Robertson’s ill-considered gold-plated guitar.

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