By Thea Everett
On the face of it, a mansion in Los Angeles isn’t somewhere I would normally think of as my dream home. Admittedly, I’ve never been to the city, but the impression I have of it is of a stressful, sprawling gridlock of idling cars, athleisure-clad go-getters striving to be somebodies — and anxiety-inducing amounts of plastic surgery. There is, however, an exception to the rule: the Braddock family mansion in Oscar-winning 1967 film The Graduate. Put me there, in that peaceful pocket of 1960s LA, and I think I would be really quite happy.
As someone who finds it incredibly difficult to sit down and relax, living in this light, bright and outdoorsy home could only be good for my mental state, as it offers seemingly endless opportunities to chill out. For Benjamin, the film’s young protagonist, his parents’ home represents stifling expectations. To me it just looks alluringly zen.
I’m a water baby, so I can’t get over the idea of having a pool so opulently deep that the film’s star Dustin Hoffman could stand at the bottom of it with a good metre of water above his head; a pool so extensive you can test your scuba diving equipment in it. And speaking of water, the huge fish tank in Benjamin’s bedroom is an extraordinary feature, a vast, bubbling, exotic reminder of the great outdoors in your sleeping quarters.
There is also the minimalist and orderly kitchen, where Benjamin famously tells his parents he’s going to marry Elaine Robinson — before admitting that he hasn’t actually asked her yet. Everyone knows the kitchen is the heart of a home, and the swing doors in the Braddocks’ offer a “how do you like your eggs in the morning” all-American energy that I love. You don’t really find them in British kitchens, and I like imagining myself in a saloon bar when I make my morning coffee. Their Wild West feel brings just enough drama to the room to keep it from being boring.
I’m also drawn to the garden, its black and white striped awning in keeping with the monochrome colour scheme of the rest of the house. To a Little Englander like me this awning represents an opportunity: here, by the pool, I could pretend I had my very own diner. What a joy to invite friends over to Thea’s Café for hot dogs, devilled eggs and Californian orange juice before taking a dip.
The neat interior of the Braddock residence seems to represent the innocence of youth, juxtaposed in the film with Mrs Robinson’s seedy jungle of a home-bar, where you ask for Bourbon and the barman always pours you Scotch, and where some pesky person is always trying to seduce you. Not at the Braddock home, though, where I am safe in late 60s suburbanism. Safe to think that the dawning of the age of plastics would bring wealth and prosperity, not environmental collapse. Safe to think only of improving my tan as I float in the pool to the most relaxing sound. The sound of silence.
Photography: Alamy; Rex/Shutterstock
