In Deceptive ‘Holland,’ Nicole Kidman Enters Into Another "Intimate Trap"

Although nearing 60, Nicole Kidman remains captivating, in excellent shape, and eager to dive into one thrilling, dangerous game after another—of course, all within the realm of cinema. In the newly released film Holland, as in her previous works like Babygirl, The Undoing, Big Little Lies, and Bombshell, she throws herself into yet another intense adventure as well as an intimate entanglement. Just to clarify, the titular place where Holland is set isn’t in Europe (formally known as the Netherlands). Instead, it’s a small town in Michigan, USA.

Kidman’s character, Nancy—a suburban housewife—stands in contrast to Romy, the CEO she portrayed in Babygirl. In some ways, both women are victims of their intimate relationships. But in Babygirl, Romy’s psychology and position are far more ambiguous. In her twisted dynamic with her young intern Samuel, she appears to resist playing the submissive role, yet she also seems to take pleasure in it—behaving almost like a pet to its master. While this goes beyond a physical sadomasochism game into the psychological realm of dominance and submission, its complexity proved too subtle for many modern viewers. Today’s audiences often crave clear-cut narratives—right versus wrong, or hero versus villain—and Romy’s vulnerability paired with contradictory moments of power left Babygirl with low ratings across various platforms.

In contrast, Holland offers a far more straightforward story and emotional arc. Nancy begins to suspect her husband Fred of having an affair. While he’s away on a business trip, she enlists the help of her colleague Dave—who harbors ambiguous feelings for her—to follow her husband's trail and collect evidence that might justify ending the marriage. But as their investigation unfolds, they discover that Fred isn’t merely cheating—he may in fact be a serial killer. This twist shifts Holland from a romantic comedy into a thriller.

However, regardless of the genre—be it romance or suspense—the film ultimately delivers a rather mediocre narrative.

To breathe life into this otherwise formulaic film, director Mimi Cave inserts a few surreal and enigmatic sequences. The most striking of these comes as a dream: the very night Nancy begins to suspect her husband of cheating, she experiences a bizarre nightmare. Hearing a noise outside, she rushes out of the house only to find a raccoon rummaging through the trash. Moments later, she sees her son transformed into a wind-up toy, vanishing into the woods. Nancy chases after him, running through the quiet streets of her small town. As she runs, the surrounding houses shrink gradually, until they resemble miniature models—just like the one in their basement. When everything is suddenly engulfed by a flood, she wakes up in shock.

Taken on its own, this dream sequence could almost work as a compelling short film about layered subconscious fears. But within the context of Holland, it feels out of place—ultimately serving as a meaningless detour that contributes little to the story. Instead of deepening the film’s themes, it makes the entire movie feel like a mysterious, overly designed toy model that is intriguing, but hollow.

From this point onward, the narrative shifts into a cat-and-mouse game. At first, Nancy and Dave are the cats, while Fred is the mouse they’re pursuing. But as evidence mounts and Fred begins to appear more like a serial killer than a simple cheater, Nancy starts to fear she herself has now become the one being hunted.

In a way, much like Romy in Babygirl, Nancy might also derive a certain thrill from playing the hidden mouse. Her investigation, and even her emotional entanglement with Dave, aren’t merely acts of revenge—they constitute a pursuit of danger, of stimulation, of escape from a dull domestic routine. This is underscored when Dave, played by Mexican star Gael García Bernal, explodes during an argument:

“It’s for your nice house, your nice car, your front pew at the church, your pancake dinners. You want all that, and you want this little excitement on the side, this brown boy that you could play with. But you can’t have it all, Nancy!”

Indeed, her secret affair with Dave and the clandestine thrill of playing with fire may have temporarily pulled her out of her numbing family life. But what she doesn’t anticipate is slipping from the role of a playful cat to that of a prey—stalked by a real predator.

In an attempt to reflect Nancy’s growing anxiety and panic, the film turns into a cat-and-mouse game with the audience as well. But instead of building genuine suspense, it resorts to empty bluffing—one fake scare after another. The relentless misdirection wears thin quickly, numbing rather than thrilling the viewers.

Holland is a small city on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. Originally founded by Dutch Americans, it’s now home to around 35,000 residents. During a road trip from Detroit to Chicago a few years ago, I’d planned a detour to visit the lakeshore towns, including Holland, but ended up skipping them. After watching this film, I can say that—if nothing else—it reminded me of Holland’s annual Tulip Time Festival, which still seems worth a visit.

That said, if I ever have the chance to visit its European namesake—and to experience its far grander tulip festival—there’d be little reason to go out of my way for this American town, especially not after watching this film, which strips it of any charm or intrigue. Through both its weak narrative and flat execution, the movie deconstructs even the illusion of a utopia, rendering it a lifeless, artificial shell.