Along with the annual defrosting of Michael Bublé and a renewed interest in mulled drinks, this is the time of year when internet searches for “The cottage from The Holiday” start to crank up a notch. Before you even type the name of the film, the elves at Google already know what you’re looking for, because seasonal re-watches of Nancy Meyers’ Christmas classic mean everyone else is looking for it too. They’re searching to see if Rosehill Cottage exists, to find out where that charming village is and they want to know whether it’s available to rent for a holiday of their own.
The exact cottage you see in The Holiday doesn’t actually exist, unfortunately. The exterior was a set built especially for the film and dismantled afterwards, and the interiors were created on a soundstage in California, but that didn’t stop multiple newspapers and magazines running a news story last year about ‘the cottage from The Holiday being available to rent’. A year later and the real-life cottage exterior that inspired the film’s set designer is no longer on Airbnb, but the amount of coverage it received shows the demand for this humble little house. It’s at the very core of Cottagecore.
Considering the cottage’s diminutive size, what was it that captured our collective hearts? Perhaps roaring fireplaces in every room while there’s fresh snow on the ground outside? Or the prospect of being swathed in cashmere while cradling a mug of coffee in a softly lit kitchen? Or answering the door to a smiling Jude Law in his heyday (who also happens to be a charming and loving father with a covetable, book-filled dream house of his own)?
The worlds that Nancy creates are so appealing, so comforting. Unrealistic too? Undeniably, but The Holiday is an opportunity for two hours and 18 minutes of escapism and daydreaming. It allows us to imagine ourselves having the same idyllic moments in the same picture-perfect home, even just for a weekend. Hence the annual (futile) search for the very cottage from the film. For many, The Holiday is a Christmas ritual and a family tradition. It’s something to look forward to and it might be saved for Christmas Eve, alongside the best nibbles that you buy once a year from the really fancy shops.
When this writer asked Nancy whether she has any thoughts about the immense popularity of her films and the desirability of the homes in them (this being House & Garden after all), she said: “I think my job as a storyteller is to get the audience fully immersed, and I try to do that with every part of the filmmaking process, which includes the environment in which the story is being told”.
The American director’s other projects include classics such as Baby Boom, Father of the Bride, The Parent Trap, What Women Want, Something’s Gotta Give and The Intern. They’re all the kind of film that you watch on a Sunday afternoon on the sofa, ideally when it’s raining outside. There’s possibly a cosy blanket or a scented candle involved and definitely a hot drink. They’re easy-watching, mentally untaxing, mood-lifting stories of romance and aspiration. Whether they’re romantacising friendships, destinations or homes, they’re all love stories of some sort. They paint a picture of an alternate reality – a life, job or apartment that we’d love to have and we can still dream of.
Nancy’s films also have the power of nostalgia. You might have first seen them in your youth, so re-watching them now (especially her earlier works) feels as soothing as pulling on an old jumper; with the accompanying nineties soundtracks, screen-free childhoods, landline calls and occasional glimpses of cities as they used to look.
Beyond the storylines themselves, they’re also sources of inspiration for our interiors and even our wardrobes. Diane Keaton’s character in Something’s Gotta Give became the unofficial chairwoman of the Coastal Grandmother style aesthetic that was doing the rounds on TikTok last year. But if you ask us, her home is the real draw. Set on a beach with deep sofas and armchairs, a writing desk set in front of large timber framed windows, bookshelves, gently diffused lamp light (a Nancy Meyers film is never knowingly badly lit), a striped kilim on the floor and collections of objets dotted around on tabletops. It’s carefully curated yet relaxed. The furniture could be new and expensive (but never obvious) or it could be something discovered in an antique shop for a song. It’s probably a combination of both. There’s an overwhelming sense of comfort and ease. Even now, twenty years later, it hasn’t aged a day.
It’s not all cosy cottages and beach houses, though. In Baby Boom we have Diane Keaton’s ultra-modern New York apartment with its Corbusier sofa and Noguchi lamps. A recent ‘for old time’s sake’ rendezvous with What Women Want made Mel Gibson’s stylish and art-filled bachelor pad the new object of this writer’s affections.
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On Nancy’s own Instagram account, she shared a still from The Parent Trap, showing Natasha Richardson sitting in bed in her magnificent London townhouse from the film. The director explained in the post’s caption that the art above the headboard (a painting by Cecil Beaton) was a vintage piece she had bought for herself while filming, “It feels good to put your own belongings in your character’s sets. I think I’ve done that in all of my films”.
It makes sense that Nancy’s films are such visual comfort food when you read an anecdote like that. They’re so personal and richly layered, every detail so thoughtfully considered to tell the story and paint a picture of the person who lives there. Exactly how a home should feel.
