In films set during summer — and there have been many, from the teenage beach romps of the ’60s to more contemporary romantic comedies and indie tales of longing and escape — homes are often integral to the story. Even when most of the action plays out elsewhere, the summer house serves as an idealized symbol of retreat and repose. As the season winds down, we asked eight designers and architects about the onscreen getaways that have most captivated them, providing inspiration for their own style and work.
“Persona,” Ingmar Bergman, 1966
Peter Staples, 40, designer and founder of Blue Green Works, New York
A stripped-down pine-clad 1960s modern beach cottage with wide windows and sheer curtains, the house in this film reminds me of Fire Island, the place that inspired my first lighting collection in 2021. I initially spent time there in my twenties and stayed in different houses by the architect Horace Gifford, which are all about minimalism, openness and a porous boundary between inside and outside. Like the house in “Persona,” they create a charged stillness. In the film, Ingmar Bergman never develops the cottage into a real space, so it’s this hazy, liminal, sunlit, purely cinematic backdrop for the story. In my work, I aim to make things that live in an in-between space, where recognition meets discovery.
“Contempt” (“Le Mepris”), Jean-Luc Godard, 1963
Dominic Leong, 47, architect and founding partner at Leong Leong, New York
I first encountered Casa Malaparte [the 1937 Modernist house on Capri, Italy, where “Contempt” was shot] when I was in architecture school, studying abroad in Paris. At the time, I was obsessed with Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut. In the film, the characters arrive at the place by walking down a meandering path and you start to catch glimpses of the house in the background. It’s perched on a cliff like an ancient ruin and serves both as backdrop and as a character — a domestic space that feels protected, almost fortresslike, yet it opens onto the Mediterranean. The house prompts all of these interactions between characters and moments in time that we see from specific vantage points. There’s a kiss framed by the window overlooking the horizon. There’s a scene with Brigitte Bardot wandering aimlessly on the roof. The narrative is about this interaction with the architecture. Our work also thinks about these tensions: simple shapes and monumental gestures, but at a human scale.
“My Best Pals” (“Mes Meilleurs Copains”), Jean-Marie Poiré, 1989
Dorothée Meilichzon, 43, interior designer and founder of CHZON, Paris
We design a lot of bars, restaurants and hotels: places where people can spend time together, talk and have fun. This is a movie all about that and it is also part of French culture: Everybody has seen it at least once. In it, a group of friends who used to play music together when they were young reunite for a weekend in Montfort-l’Amaury, a countryside region near Paris. It’s an old house, but very 1970s — the bathroom steps are covered in carpet. There’s this outdoor space with a large table and an open kitchen where a lot of things are always happening. When I first saw the movie with my husband, we had been wondering whether or not to buy a country house, and watching it convinced us that it would be super cool to have a place made for hosting friends.
“On Golden Pond,” Mark Rydell, 1981
Remy Renzullo, 33, interior designer, Connecticut and London
The story of a couple from Boston spending their last summer at their cottage in New Hampshire, this movie is really about the relationship between the father and the daughter, played by Henry and Jane Fonda. It’s quite caustic and funny — like the New England I grew up in — and my family has always watched it. The house is a great example of late Victorian New England cottage architecture. I love the scene of them arriving at the house, which was all shut up, and slowly opening the shutters and taking off the dust sheets to let the light in. You feel like, “Ah, it’s summer now.” Two years after the film was made, my grandparents actually rented that house for a summer. My mother said it was exactly like in the movie. I can perfectly imagine them around the dinner table. Both she and my grandfather were great raconteurs with an acerbic sense of humor. What I try to do with my work is create interiors that feel like they’ve always existed, and a lot of that stems from these houses of my childhood, like the one in “On Golden Pond.”
“Grey Gardens,” Albert Maysles, David Maysles, Ellen Hovde, Muffie Meyer, 1975
Gabriel Hendifar, 44, designer and co-founder of Apparatus, New York
I’m first-generation American and grew up in Los Angeles. My parents had experienced summer houses on the coast in Iran, but here we didn’t have access to that East Coast American ideal. Summer in Los Angeles was just like the rest of the year so it felt like there was this magical summer experience that my parents left behind, and I would never get to have it. “Grey Gardens” allowed me to deconstruct that idea of the idyllic summer, showing me that the fantasy is fragile. The house is an artifact of a different time: There’s decaying wallpaper, piles of newspapers and cat food tins all over. They’re trapped by this need to reconnect with memories of a golden time in their lives, represented by this summer house. My work is informed by the desire to create a connection to a material history because I feel so separated from where my parents came from. The idea of spaces as artifacts informs everything I do. When I see women projecting themselves into memory, it speaks profoundly to me.
“Zabriskie Point,” Michelangelo Antonioni, 1970
Kelly Wearstler, 57, designer, Los Angeles
I saw this when I was studying at the School of Visual Arts in New York. I was friends with a film student, and he knew I was into design and architecture, so he told me about it. It was really powerful for me because I knew I was going to be moving to California and I’d never been there. The film is about students who left the chaos of the city and escaped to Death Valley. It wasn’t a good movie, but the muted color tones were very poignant, making the whole film feel like a sculpture. The house is almost International Style, and it was set in this incredibly scenic, gorgeous desert. I first visited a similar place in Joshua Tree two or three years after moving to L.A. I remember feeling like a kid in a candy store — there are so many Modernist architectural gems and the sunsets are so special. It’s part of my DNA now.
“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” Anthony Minghella, 1999
Brigette Romanek, 52, designer, Los Angeles
I love everything about the house where the characters Marge and Dickie live: the view, the stone walls, the arches in the living room, the ironwork on the windows. My favorite scene is when they’re sitting in this little courtyard and Gwyneth Paltrow comes out with this silver tray — she seems so excited. The walls are covered in incredible foliage that climbs up the side of the building, and you can tell it’s grown over years and years. I pictured myself being there, having my English breakfast tea, reading a book and really exhaling. The story, being a thriller, is very intense, but the backdrop and the scenery are so inviting and beautiful. When you travel to Italy or France and see these villas, or stay in one, it’s such a lesson in detail and how to embrace things like the aging of stonework. I try to incorporate that into my design work — living with beautiful things but not being precious.
“Moonrise Kingdom,” Wes Anderson, 2012
Poonam Khanna, 59, architect and founder of Unionworks, New York
The little tent that the kids pitch on the beach is, to me, a summer house, filled with all the things the children bring to make it their own. She has her record player, a suitcase full of books and her cat in a rattan basket. He comes with all the camping gear. I love that he even makes her earrings out of fishing hooks and beetles. Can you ask for more? I’ve always carried that image with me. The idea is that you go find your space, bring what matters and make it home for that moment. I think that’s beautiful. Summer houses aren’t only functional, they’re about discovery and delight. That sense of surprise is what I try to build into my own work — objects that feel found as much as designed.
These interviews have been edited and condensed.
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