The Holiday, and the Art of Being Your Own Leading Lady

Screen & Sound · The Lori Diaries

I first watched The Holiday when I was twelve, just before my first trip to England. Back then, I was interested in the English cottage, the house-swapping idea, and, naturally, Jude Law. I'm nineteen now, and I still love all three. But there's one thing I notice much more when I watch it these days: how easy it is to spend so much time waiting for somebody else's story to change that you forget you have one of your own.

Before I get to the film, I need to tell you about a summer afternoon in 2007.

My mum and I were having coffee at Gino in Skopje. Sitting across from us was a woman I hadn't met before, an English teacher whose school I would eventually attend.

I'd heard that she organised a summer school in England, taking a group of students to London and Bristol for a month. And once I'd heard about it, I could think of very little else.

I was twelve and completely in love with the English language. I read Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, and the Brontë sisters, and had a rather elaborate picture of England in my head. There were old houses, green hills, beautiful bookshops, and people who somehow always knew exactly the right thing to say.

I suspect actual British people would have had a few things to say about my expectations.

There was also a small problem: I wasn't a student at the teacher's school, which made joining the trip rather complicated. But I wanted to go badly enough that we found a way.

That July, I boarded a plane to London Heathrow without my parents for the very first time, travelling with a group of people I barely knew.

I remember being terribly excited about it. I must have been nervous too, although I suspect the excitement was much louder.

Before we left, our teacher asked us to watch a few films as preparation for the trip. One was The Holiday, which had come out the previous year. She wanted us to pay particular attention to the idea of a house exchange, where people swap homes for a holiday.

That was the educational part.

The less educational part was that I ended up loving the film so much that I've been watching it again around Christmas ever since.

Two Weeks Away Sounds Tempting, Doesn't It?

The story begins with two women who have reached the point where even their own homes don't feel particularly comforting.

Iris lives in a lovely cottage in the English countryside, but she's hopelessly in love with Jasper, a man who has a habit of keeping her close without ever choosing her. Amanda lives in a beautiful house in Los Angeles and has just discovered that her boyfriend has been unfaithful.

Neither of them is having a wonderful time.

So they find each other online and exchange homes for two weeks. Iris heads to sunny California, while Amanda arrives in a snowy little English village.

I realise that leaving your problems behind is not as simple as buying a plane ticket. If it were, airports would be full of people with emotional baggage rather than actual luggage.

But I love the idea of giving yourself a little room.

Iris cannot stop thinking about Jasper while she's living in the same place, seeing the same people, and hoping for the same phone call. Amanda is so used to being busy and in control that she doesn't seem to know what to do when there's nothing left to organise.

Neither woman goes away knowing exactly what will happen next. They just know that staying where they are doesn't seem to be helping.

That's something I understand, even if my first trip to England had rather different reasons behind it. Going somewhere new didn't turn me into a completely different person, but it did show me that I could do things I'd previously only imagined.

And sometimes that is enough to make you a little braver when you come home.

Iris, Please Stop Waiting for Jasper

I have a great deal of affection for Iris. She's funny, thoughtful, and the sort of person who seems to have endless understanding for everyone except herself.

Which is probably why her story is so frustrating to watch.

Jasper has already moved on. He's engaged to another woman, yet he continues to give Iris just enough attention to keep her hopeful. A message, a memory, a suggestion that perhaps things between them aren't quite finished.

And Iris believes him, because believing him is easier than accepting that the future she imagined with him might never happen.

I'm nineteen, so I won't pretend I've worked out everything there is to know about love. I still like the idea of grand romantic gestures, unexpected meetings, and people who finally realise they've been in love all along.

But I don't think being someone's favourite possibility is the same thing as being loved.

Watching Iris makes me wonder how often we become attached not only to a person, but also to the version of the story we keep hoping they'll give us.

We remember the lovely things they said. We explain away the disappointing things they did. We decide that maybe one more conversation will finally make everything clear.

Meanwhile, life keeps happening.

That's what I wish Iris could see a little sooner. She has a lovely home, an interesting job, people who care about her, and a whole world beyond Jasper. None of it disappears simply because one man has failed to appreciate her.

It's possible to miss somebody and still decide that waiting for them isn't how you want to spend your life.

Amanda Doesn't Need to Prove She's Heartbroken

Amanda's problem looks very different from Iris's.

When she finds out her boyfriend has cheated on her, she throws him out and tries to cry. Only she can't. She hasn't cried since her parents separated when she was younger, and she seems convinced that there must be something wrong with the way she feels.

I used to think the scene was funny because surely, if she couldn't cry over him, he couldn't have meant very much to her.

Now I think that's a little unfair.

People don't all react to disappointment in the same way. Some cry immediately. Some become angry. Some keep themselves busy because stopping for a moment feels much more difficult.

I don't think tears are a particularly reliable way of measuring how much somebody mattered.

What I like about Amanda's time in England is that she slowly stops trying to manage every feeling as though it's another problem at work. She meets Graham, gets to know him, and finds herself wanting something she hadn't planned for.

Of course, it helps that Graham looks like Jude Law. I am not going to argue with that part of the film.

But what makes Amanda's story sweet to me isn't simply that she meets a handsome man in a picturesque cottage. It's that she allows herself to care, even when she can't work out in advance how everything is going to end.

The Best Part of the Film Isn't Actually a Romance

I love Iris and Miles. I love Amanda and Graham. I love the cottage, the music, and the fact that everybody seems to own impossibly beautiful coats.

But the relationship I find myself thinking about most is the friendship between Iris and Arthur Abbott.

Arthur is an elderly Hollywood screenwriter whom Iris meets in Los Angeles. She helps him, spends time with him, and listens to his stories. In return, he gives her something she didn't know she needed: a different way of looking at her own life.

Arthur tells Iris that she's behaving like the best friend in a film when she ought to be its leading lady.

It's such a simple idea, and it makes me want to cheer for her every single time.

Iris has spent so long thinking about Jasper that she barely seems to notice how much of her own life she's put on hold. She's always available when he needs her, always ready to listen, always leaving a little space in case he changes his mind.

Arthur doesn't tell her to become somebody else. He helps her remember that she already has a story worth paying attention to.

And I love that Iris helps him just as much. She encourages him to accept an honour for his work, supports him as he prepares for the event, and reminds him that people haven't forgotten him.

Two people meet by chance and make each other's lives a little better. No grand romantic declaration required.

For a film with so many lovely love stories, that friendship might be my favourite one.

I Still Believe in a Good Meet-Cute

There's another little moment with Arthur that I adore. He explains the idea of a meet-cute, that charming first encounter in a film when two strangers meet in a way that feels as though somebody has arranged it especially for them.

His example involves two people shopping for different halves of the same pair of pyjamas. It's wonderfully old-fashioned, and exactly the sort of detail that makes me love films.

Maybe that's why I've always enjoyed the beginning of a story so much. You never quite know which ordinary conversation will become important later.

The funny thing is, my own story with The Holiday began with a chance meeting too.

One afternoon in Gino, a teacher I hadn't met before sat across from me and my mum. A conversation about an English summer school led to my first flight without my parents, a month in England, and a film I still return to six years later.

Nobody swapped houses. There was no romantic music playing in the restaurant. And, as far as I remember, Jude Law did not appear to offer anybody a cup of tea.

Still, I think it was a rather good beginning.

At twelve, I watched The Holiday and dreamed about England. At nineteen, I still dream about England, but I notice a few different things in the film.

I notice how much time Iris loses waiting for Jasper. I notice how frightened Amanda is of feeling something she can't control. And I notice that Arthur, who has lived through far more than either of them, can still change somebody's life just by being kind and paying attention.

I don't know what my own love story will look like. Perhaps it'll involve a wonderfully unlikely meeting. Perhaps it won't be nearly as cinematic as I'd like.

Either way, I hope I remember that there are other things worth making room for: friendships, books, places I haven't seen yet, and whatever I decide to do with this little blog I've just started.

I'd love a good romantic ending. I'd just rather not spend the whole story waiting for somebody else to begin it.

If you haven't watched The Holiday, I can't think of a nicer film for a quiet December evening. And if you've seen it already, tell me: are you an Iris or an Amanda? Or, like me, are you mostly wishing Arthur Abbott could be your friend?

xoxo,

Lori