In the psychological thriller Holland, Mimi Cave’s follow-up to her “the modern dating scene is cannibalism” horror film Fresh, a father (Matthew Macfadyen’s Fred) tests his son on what’s to be done when you don’t feel like making the bed. It’s simple, really – throw a duvet over the mess, smooth it out, and delude yourself into thinking that’s a job well done.
Unfortunately for Holland, this is one of those instances in which a film has provided the bullet for its own execution. There is, in fact, no better way to describe what’s happened here. Andrew Sodorski’s script, which has bounced around Hollywood for a decade, has come out a half-baked mess. Cave’s role is to toss a layer of visual irony over it all and hope no one notices. Holland, with its floral wallpapers and porcelain figurines, and scenes that consistently end with a flare of violins, gestures aggressively towards kitsch. But Sodorski’s story is plain, dry melodrama. There’s not a lick of the camp, the satirical, or the demented in sight.
