A Christmas house-swap with an Australian professor seems like a nice change of air for a family suffering from a workaholic husband and a wife resentful at having sacrificed her career for motherhood.
But the joys of a festive season on the beach just don't seem to materialise, as the husband is distracted by news of an African war, seriously affecting his firm's investments, and his mind is still stuck in the office. Meanwhile, back in England, a close neighbour leaves a voicemail alerting them that all is not what it seems at home. It is giving nothing away if we reveal that the 'professor' is a fraud, and that his 'family' were invented to pretty-up the cover-story.
The bulk of this film is a slow crescendo of loathing for the fake prof, who is shown to be guilty of one sickening outrage after another. When he manages to forge the deeds of the house, and the estate agent asks him why he's in such a hurry to sell, he fabricates a sob-story about the recent loss of his cherished wife, that makes us want to slaughter him on the spot. And nobody could have been better cast than the English actor Jonathan Cake, his convincing Oz accent being only the beginning of it. He simply lives the part with every movement, every gesture, every sign of the outlaw mindset in his complacent smile. But the real twist is too sensational to be revealed.
Phyllida Law carries full conviction as the neighbour, and some of the minor players do full justice to their small parts, notably the Scottish police inspector, and an Australian whose daughter had been raped by you-know-who.
So - a rare verdict of ten out of ten, and for once I found myself wishing there was an eleven.
